Ranger's Plan
by Odyssia
Summary: Joe's doctor has some distressing news for him after his yearly physical. What does this mean for Stephanie, and how will Ranger use this news to his advantage? Babe. All done!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** - Hi everyone! I've been enjoying your stories a lot and thought I might join the fray. This here will be a short Babe story, probably only a few chapters. I'd love to hear what you think. Suggestions and thoughtful criticisms always welcome.

Warnings: Possibly some swearing. Kissing and smooching all around, but no graphic smut. Probably not a good story for Cupcakes. This story also won't be beta'd, so expect to see a few errors here and there.

Disclaimers: Don't own Stephanie Plum and all her friends. They belong to Janet. Dang it all.

All the best, J.

* * *

**Chapter One - The Call**

I was just nodding off when I felt my cell buzzing at my hip. It was Morelli. I hadn't heard from him in weeks. He'd called to say he was going undercover, heavy on the mystery and vague on the details. Now he was calling – at eleven p.m. And he sounded nervous. This did not bode well.

"Listen, Cupcake," he said, "I just got back the results of my department physical, and given that we're a couple, the doc here thought I should contact you… You know, so you can get tested."

I was awake now. I sat up straight in my seat. "What?" I could feel the blood draining from my face. This was it – Morelli's past had finally caught up with him. He had an STD – and now he had passed it on to me. Rat bastard.

Ranger shifted for the first time that night. He looked at me, eyebrow raised – his way of asking if everything was okay. I gave him a nervous grin to indicate that it wasn't a life or death situation – well, not yet anyway – and turned away from him a little. "What?" I asked again, this time keeping my voice to a frantic whisper.

"The doc said we'll have to make some serious adjustments to our lifestyle," Joe continued. "You have a family doctor, right? You should probably get in to see him as soon as you can."

I was starting to feel a bit dizzy. "Adjustments? Joe, I - "

"You may need to go on medication. They've got me taking something here - "

I must have looked panicked, because now Ranger was concerned. I could tell, because he wasn't watching for the skip anymore, and was staring at me with his 'talk to the boss' face. God – Ranger. We did it that one time… that one incredible time. What if I passed something on to him? He'd be furious. It would also be the end of the poaching sessions in the alley. I turned away from him as much as the car seat would allow, and hissed into the phone, "Maybe now isn't the best time to discuss this."

"Why not? It's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people take medication for it. It's like popping vitamins nowadays."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it incredulously. Nothing to be ashamed of? Maybe it was okay for a Morelli to be a walking disease factory, but in the burg, nice girls didn't go around getting sexually transmitted diseases. That was an unspoken given. If my mother ever found out about this, there'd be no pineapple upside down cake. Ever.

"Cupcake? Are you there?" Morelli's voice, though quiet and tinny coming through the tiny cell phone, was perfectly audible to both me and Ranger. I snapped the phone back up to my ear. I was mad now. Mad that Morelli's early womanizing days had caught up to him and me. Mad that my dessert eating days were over.

"Cupcake?"

"Mm."

"There you are – we must have got cut off for a minute. Anyway, the doc says with medication, changes to our diet, and more exercise, we should be fine. All you need to get done is get a blood test, you know, to find out how bad it is."

"How bad _what_ is, Joe?" I yelled. I couldn't help it. First my desserts are cut off. And now he wants me to exercise. Next he'll be telling me that we can't have sex anymore. Well, he's got that one right – there'll be no more wild monkey sex for me and the Trenton love machine. I hope whatever he had caused his parts to shrivel up and fall off. Of course, that probably meant that my parts would shrivel up too, but at least it wouldn't be so obvious to the casual observer.

"Didn't I mention it? Sorry – it just kind of came as a shock." No shit. He paused. "The doc says my cholesterol is too high."

For a moment I couldn't say anything. Then I sank back into the chair. High cholesterol – okay. That I could deal with. My parts were safe. Dessert was still on the menu. I started to breathe again. "Oh. Okay."

"Yeah." Joe fell silent. No doubt contemplating what this would now mean to his eating habits. Joe was a healthy Italian male with a matching appetite. There was a lot of emotion in that 'yeah'. It spoke of Pino's subs and pizzas that would go uneaten, big family dinners that would be pared down to a few vegetables and bread crusts. For Morelli, it was like being sent to a monastery.

Movement caught my eye. Ranger was shifting again, his way of trying to get my attention. Ranger wasn't a shifter by nature. It brought me back to the matter at hand, that being surveillance. "Well, I'm kinda working right now…"

"Alright. I'll call you later." And he hung up.

I looked at the phone. He hadn't even asked me what I was doing, or who I was with. Morelli was really rattled. And it occurred to me, with just the tiniest smidge of guilt, that as a supposed girlfriend, I could have been a bit more supportive. I mean, his dad had died of a heart attack. It was a prerequisite to being a Morelli male, to womanize, drink, be abusive, and die young. But Joe had spent a lot of time trying to break out of that mold. It made sense that he wouldn't want to die young. I mean, who did?

Ranger was already back to looking out the window. I tried to push the conversation I just had out of my mind, and focus on the job at hand. What was it I was doing? Oh, yeah – staking out Booger Johnson. I went to school with Booger. He got his nickname for his nose mining habits. Lately he'd been putting other things up his nose besides his finger, like cocaine. He'd gone FTA over a simple possession charge. Ranger agreed to help me on the stake out, more for my protection and his amusement than any desire to help capture a guy named Booger.

It was hard to get into Booger-watching mode after the call. Morelli had high cholesterol. Okay, let's look at this objectively. So did ninety percent of the men in the burg. It was a given, like the women cooked the meals and the men got the oil changes done on the family Buick. The more I thought of it, the more I wondered why Joe had made such a production out of it. Like he said, he was on medication, and was changing his diet. Surely that would be good enough.

And I wasn't quite sure how I fit in to all of this. Why would Joe assume that my cholesterol was high, too?

I was chewing this over when Ranger turned to me and said, "Well?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. I don't think Booger's home either."

He shook his head. "Not the skip," he said. He pointed to the phone, which I still had clutched in my hand. "What was that about?"

I opened my mouth to tell him – and then I closed it again when I realized that I didn't want to tell him. After all, he didn't tell me what his phone calls and pages were about. And this was Joe's business, not mine. "It's a personal matter," I said.

"I gathered that," he said. And he proceeded to stare me down.

I lasted about a minute under his gaze before I gave up. "Joe has high cholesterol."

I immediately saw the tension leave his body. "Not surprising," he said. His eyes drifted back to Booger's house.

"His doctor thinks I should get tested too."

Ranger's head moved just a little – his version of a nod. "It's not a bad idea."

I turned in the seat to face him. "Why?"

He looked at me. "Babe. I've seen what you eat."

I was starting to get defensive now. "And?"

I could see he was thinking about smiling. "That stuff will kill you," he said.

I snorted. He always said that; I just never gave it much thought. I sank back in the seat. "It hasn't yet."

"No – but this is a warning that it could." He once again turned his full attention toward me. "You'll get the test done," he said. It wasn't a request.

I felt myself going into rhino mode at being told what to do. But the look in his eyes made me pause. It was the same kind of look he had when he told me to leave Spiro's house, the night Con kidnapped me and shoved me in a kitchen cupboard. Not as strong, of course, but all the elements were there. A look of concern. Just a hint of anger. And all out stubbornness that said he wasn't going to take no for answer.

"Please," he said.

The rhino went back to her pen. Ranger never said please. I sighed. "Okay."

He smiled then, picked up my hand, and kissed it. Then he started the car, and took me home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - Dinner Time  
**

"What do you mean, Joe has high cholesterol?" Lula said.

I was sitting on the couch in the office. I shrugged. "He called me last night to tell me." I finished off the Boston Cream doughnut in my left hand, and started in on the one in my right. "He said he's on a special diet, and has to take pills."

"You'd better enjoy these doughnuts, then," Connie said. She nosed around in the Tasty Pastry box I'd plunked on her desk a few minutes ago, and selected a jelly doughnut. "They'll probably be your last."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You're practically living with Supercop," Lula said. "He'll expect you to go on the same diet they forced on him."

"I'm not really living with him." Not now, anyway. When he left town last month, I moved back home. And now that he was back, I wasn't so sure if I wanted to leave my apartment. I was used to living on my own again, and didn't really relish the thought of playing my version of Burg housewife. Plus, we'd have to go through all the same arguments about my job and who I was working with, namely Ranger.

I'm sure Morelli wouldn't want to know about all the time I'd spent with Ranger over the last month. Most of it was work related time, but there'd also been a lot of visits to the alley, and late night break-ins to my apartment. And kissing and nuzzling and wandering hands. No, not a discussion to have with a man who'd just been told he can't eat at Pino's anymore.

"It don't matter," Lula said. "No way the man's going to be eating carrots while you're scarfing down meatball subs and cheeseburgers in front of him."

"Besides, your cholesterol is probably as bad as his," Connie added.

I was starting to feel a little singled out. First Ranger, now my doughnut eating buddies. I'd been hoping for a little more sympathy from them. "Why would you say that?"

Connie and Lula looked at each other, and then laughed. It was that kind of cackling laughter that was only ever directed toward the totally clueless.

"You eat the same shit, don't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then you're doomed," Lula said. Behind the desk, Connie nodded, her mouth too full of doughnut to verbally agree.

"What about you?" I said to Lula. "You eat the same kind of stuff I do."

"Yeah, but I don't have a cholesterol problem, on account that I'm a bigger woman. My body can tolerate more fat and shit because it has more places to store it. It's you skinny chicks that have a problem, because there's no place to put all that shit, except where it don't belong."

I was pretty sure that wasn't how it worked, and yet, I still had the sudden desire to grow a bigger butt.

"Okay," I said. "Suppose I do have high cholesterol. What do you think I can eat?"

There was a moment's silence. "Egg whites?" Connie said. "Vegetables?"

"Maybe bread," Lula said. "And water. I don't think water has any cholesterol in it."

Oh boy. I looked at the remains of the doughnut in my hand. It was full of fat and cream and sugar, all the things I loved, all of which was now trying to find a home in my arteries. Lots of food that I ate contained the same three ingredients, just in varying quantities. Did I have to give it all up now?

"Do you think I can still eat sugar?" I recalled what happened the last time I went off sugar. Within two days I ran Joe to the point of sexual exhaustion, and made Ranger so excited that I became exhausted running away from him.

"I'm not sure," Connie said. But her face said, 'I doubt it.'

I sank into the couch. Maybe Joe wouldn't mind if I ate a few meatball subs in front of him. Or birthday cake. Surely Joe wouldn't deny me cake. Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie, I thought to myself. Of course he was going to mind. If he had to suffer, then so would I. He'd shoot me otherwise.

I must have looked a little sad, because Connie said, "I think you can still eat doughnut holes. You know, in place of doughnuts."

"Yeah," Lula said. "Everyone knows doughnut holes are too small to have any cholesterol in them."

So this was to become my life – downgraded to doughnut holes. I stood up from the couch, and made my way over to the doughnut box. "I'm eating another," I said.

"Uh, oh," Connie said. "I've seen that look before. We're heading for denial land."

"I'm not in denial." But I was. This whole cholesterol thing was going to be a problem, a problem I didn't necessarily want to face this early in the morning. At any time, really. I grabbed a Boston cream, shoved half of it in my mouth, and made a grab for the remaining two left in the box.

Just at that moment, Connie and Lula went quiet and still, and a familiar tingling went up my spine. I froze, unable to chew. A moment later, a hand settled at the back of my neck. I jumped, and involuntarily squeezed the doughnuts.

"Turn around, babe."

I didn't want to. Not with half a doughnut hanging out of my mouth, and two more in my hand, both of which were now leaking strawberry jelly all over my fingers. Plus his voice sounded scary.

The hand on my neck tightened just a little. "Drop the doughnut, babe."

"Which one?" Connie said.

I felt Ranger peek over my shoulder, then heard the sound that was his equivalent of a sigh. I immediately dropped the doughnuts, and sheepishly took out the one hanging from my mouth. Connie held up the garbage can, and I deposited the half eaten doughnut into it. I tried not to whimper as I did so. Even with an angry Ranger behind me, I still couldn't help but think what a waste of food it was. In my house, no one ever threw out a doughnut. Even the five second rule didn't apply to doughnuts.

"Let's talk outside for a second," Ranger said. And hand still on my neck, he directed me out to the alley, and trapped me against the wall.

I shrank back from him, as much as the wall would allow. I was afraid to touch him, and not just because my hands were still covered in strawberry jam.

Ranger looked me up and down, and paused at my face, which was no doubt covered with sugar and doughnut residue. A bit of the hardness left his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "You're a mess, babe." He leaned in until we were pressed together in all the right places, and kissed the corner of my mouth. His lips lingered in that spot before drawing away, slowly. "Sweet," he said.

It was a battle not to reach up and grip his shirt, like I always did in these moments, but if I got his shirt dirty, I was a dead woman. I let out the breath I had been holding, and tried not to sag. "You caught me in the middle of breakfast."

"It looks like you dived right in." He lifted my hand, and smiled at my strawberry covered fingers. He extended my index finger, and then, with his eyes upon mine, carefully drew my finger into his mouth.

"Ugmahuh," I said, or something like it. If his body hadn't been pressed against mine, I would have slumped down to the ground.

He smiled around my finger, and then began the business of licking it clean. "I'd do the rest," he said, once he was done, "but I'd risk putting my blood sugar off balance for the rest of the day."

"W-w-ell, we wouldn't want that," I said.

The smile grew momentarily. Then he took a step back from me. "Did you call your doctor yet?"

I frowned, my mind still hazy. "Doctor?"

The smile disappeared. "You aren't going to miss this blood test, babe. You gave me your word."

Oh, yeah. _That._ "I phoned this morning. I'm getting it done this afternoon." I had called as soon as I woke up, knowing if I waited, I'd eventually convince myself not to do it.

Ranger looked at me carefully for a long time, waiting for me to show some sign that I was lying. He smiled when he didn't find any. "Good." He leaned in again, and tagged a small kiss to my cheek. "You'll let me know the results once you find out?"

I bristled a little. I knew he only asked because he was concerned about me, but it really wasn't any of his business. Still, what was the point in keeping it secret? With his connections, he could find out the results before the doctor did, so I nodded. He rewarded me with another bone melting kiss, and left me there, dazed.

--

I called Morelli later that afternoon. "Mom knows you're back in town," I said. "She wants us to come over for dinner tonight."

"Sure. I'll pick you up at quarter to."

I was surprised at this quick acceptance. My mom's dinners were full of all sorts of yummy things, like meat, gravy, and dessert. Not exactly a meal recommended by the American Heart and Stroke Foundation. "Um… are you sure you want to come? I didn't tell them about your… you know…"

"My what?" He sounded amused.

"You know…" Why couldn't I spit it out? "Your cholesterol issues."

"Oh yeah." He said it casually, like his health problems were so minor they could not possibly affect him. "What are we having?"

"Pot roast." The rest went without saying, because we always had the same thing with every pot roast. Mashed potatoes swimming in butter. Cauliflower in cheese sauce. White buns. Pickles with extra salt. And pineapple upside down cake with lots of whip cream. Everything a potential heart attack victim needed for basic survival.

"It's okay, Cupcake. There's always plenty of food at the table. I'll find something there I can eat."

Really? "Really? Like what?"

Morelli became thoughtful. He had been to enough meals at our table to know the menu off by heart, and knew there wouldn't be a lot of choices. "Well, there's always broccoli, right?"

"Yeah." No one ate it, but it was always there at every meal.

"See? I won't starve. I'll eat trees and have potatoes without the gravy."

Something was wrong here; he was accepting this much too easily. I've never seen Morelli willingly eat a vegetable unless it was slathered in a sauce of some kind, or covered in cheese on a pizza. "Are you sure? Because I can call mom and ask her to - "

"No, don't put her out."

"Okay." And I fell silent.

I heard Joe sigh. "What is it?"

"Well, I think it's good that you're watching what you eat. That's really important, isn't it?"

There was a pause. "Yeah," he said, tone suspicious.

"I mean, it wouldn't do you any good to eat well one day and then… you know…"

"What? Cheat with a cheesecake?" He was sounding amused again, sort of.

We both knew that if anyone would cheat with a cheesecake, it would be me. I sighed. "Not a cheesecake. A cheese steak, maybe…"

"Don't worry about it, Steph," he said. "I'm being careful."

I kept expecting him to use the same tone of voice that he used when he knew something about a case, and wouldn't share it with me. But he didn't. He was actually telling me the truth. "Good." But I still wasn't happy.

There was another sigh. "What?"

"You don't expect me to eat the same things you do, do you?" There it was, my greatest fear – that the pineapple upside down cake would go uneaten, not that my boyfriend would go nuts from eating too many vegetables and throw himself upon a meatball sub. This was all about me, dammit.

"No. You can eat whatever you want."

I brightened. "Really?"

"Sure. Might as well enjoy it while you can. I'm sure once your blood test comes in, you'll be in the same boat as me."

Oh boy. "Are you laughing? Why are you laughing?"

"I'll see you tonight." And he hung up.

--

Grandma Mazur was waiting at the door when Morelli and I pulled up to the house later that night. "Well, isn't this nice," she said. "Is Ranger coming too?"

I cringed. Joe gave me a curious look. "Ranger?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Not this time," I said. Ranger had somehow become Joe's replacement at my parent's dinner table last month. He had sat through the insanity that was my family and tolerated Grandma's wandering hands and eyes with veiled amusement. I think he might have even enjoyed himself. And the funny part was, I never asked him to join me. He simply drove me over one Friday, and walked in with me, surprising the hell out of me and my family.

"I'm glad Joe's here. Now he can meet my new honey. He's coming for dinner tonight too. He's hot for me, if you know what I mean." She elbowed Morelli in a knowing way.

Morelli grunted; Grandma had elbows like the jagged edges of chicken bones. "Lucky guy," he told her. "What's his name?"

"Roger Hardwood. Ain't that a pip of a name? It sounds real promising, anyway. With a name like that, I'm practically guaranteed some action."

"Jesus," I heard my father mutter from the living room.

My mother came out of the kitchen and smiled at Joe. "Dinner's almost ready. Go and sit down."

My dad was halfway to the table before mom was even finished talking. He sat, fork in hand, watching the door to the kitchen with anticipation. Joe and I sat down, and mom started loading up the table with food.

Joe put an arm around my chair. "So," he said. "Ranger's been coming for dinner."

I shrugged, trying for casual rather than all out panic. "He filled in once or twice."

"Uh-huh." Morelli took the bowl of potatoes from me. "What else has he filled in for since I've been away?"

Nothing I thought appropriate for bringing up at my parent's dinner table.

I was saved by the doorbell. "There's my honey! I'll get it!" Grandma scuttled off to the door, and came back a few minutes later with a bald headed, bow tie wearing man in his nineties. Roger's pants came up to his armpits. If he wasn't so hunched over, I'd put his height at about six feet. Roger looked like a scarecrow that had seen too many rainy days and had lost most of its stuffing.

"This here is Roger," Grandma Mazur said proudly.

My father took in Roger and mumbled something, but his mouth was too full of pot roast to understand him.

"Evening," Roger said. His voice was dry and pinched. He sat down, and eyed the table. "Good looking spread you got here. Thanks for inviting me, cutie." He patted Grandma on her non-existent behind.

"Oh, you," Grandma said.

Mom reached for her wine glass, and drained half of it before she noticed that Joe's plate contained only potatoes and a tiny piece of pot roast. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Is there something wrong with the meal? Is the pot roast dry?"

"Not at all – everything looks great," Joe said. "Could someone pass me the broccoli?"

My father's fork fell to his plate with a clatter, and my mother and grandmother both gasped. No one ate the broccoli. It was just put out there because it was the right thing to do. They all stared at Morelli like he'd just grown antlers and asked if anyone else at the table was horny.

"What's going on?" mom asked.

Morelli leaned back in his chair. "Well, the doctor says my cholesterol is a bit high, so I'm cutting back a little on… a few things."

Yeah. Like food, apparently.

"Yep, yep. Don't want to mess around with that." Roger was the only one at the table unaffected by the announcement. He added a few more slices of pot roast to his overflowing plate, and topped everything off with gravy.

My mother was already on her feet. "Let me make you something else then," she said. "What can you have? Do you want some fish? A little chicken?"

Morelli shook his head. "It's fine, Ellen. This will be fine." He looked down at his half cup of potatoes, sliver of meat, and ten florets of broccoli. "It looks good," he said.

It didn't look good to me. We watched as Morelli shoved a huge piece of broccoli in his mouth, and started chewing. He chewed and chewed and chewed, and with great difficulty, finally swallowed. "Yum," he said. He glanced at the other nine florets, and looked a little sad.

"I'm not so good with broccoli," Grandma said. "It gives me gas."

"I hear you," Roger said. "It's bananas that do me in. I fart up a real windstorm whenever I eat a banana." He shoved in a mouthful of potatoes. "Or potatoes."

I saw my mother move her chair away from Roger just a little.

"Yep, yep, you watch what you eat there, young fellow," Roger said to Joe. "It's the diet that'll kill you."

Morelli glanced at Roger's plate, which was dripping gravy onto the linens. "You don't say."

"You betcha. Twenty years ago the doc told me I had high cholesterol. Told me diet was the key to fixing it. Wanted me to eat vegetables, beans, and fish. Had to drink that watered down beer, and give up my pork rinds."

"And that helped, did it?"

"Worked great, until I went impotent."

Joe choked on his broccoli. "What?"

Roger slathered some butter on a bun. "As soon as I started eating all that healthy stuff, Mr. Happy went soft, if you know what I mean. With a name like Roger Hardwood, I have a certain reputation to maintain. Got to keep the ladies happy. So I told the doc to stuff his veggies, and I've been in business ever since." He shovelled in some meat. "'Course, I have had three heart attacks and a quadruple bypass since then, but Mr. Happy never minded that."

Grandma looked pleased. My mother reached for the wine bottle, and emptied it into her glass. My father started muttering around his pot roast again. And Morelli looked like someone had just punched him in the gut.

He leaned in closer to me. "Pass me the gravy bowl."

"No way! You're not allowed!"

"I don't care. I'd rather die in a year."

I sent the gravy bowl in the opposite direction. "It was probably the lite beer that did it."

"You're not helping, Cupcake," he said. "I've been sentenced to lite beer, too. Now give me the gravy, or I just might disappoint you later."

That was unlikely. Morelli had the kind of libido that didn't tolerate disappointment. "Stay away from the gravy, and I'll do something for you that I haven't done before."

He immediately forgot about the gravy; I could tell by the way his eyes got all dark. "Oh yeah? Does it involve…" And he leaned over, and whispered an obscene suggestion in my ear.

I wasn't one for blushing, but my face went red. "Absolutely not," I said.

"Then what is it?"

I thought hard – I actually hadn't thought of a good carrot to dangle in front of him when I made the offer, though I knew it wasn't the particular carrot he had in mind. "I'll cook you dinner," I blurted out.

He looked at me for a beat or two, and then laughed. "I don't think I'm allowed to eat peanut butter or cookie dough," he said.

"No, it'll be something good. Something… low cholesterol."

He looked less amused and more alarmed. "You're serious, aren't you? Your cooking is supposed to be a temptation?"

"I can cook."

"No, you can't."

"Stephanie can cook," Grandma said. "When I was living with her, she made us a real nice meatloaf."

Morelli looked at me with disbelief. "Really?"

I nodded. If you could call the troll gonads I made meatloaf.

"You're going to make me a low cholesterol meatloaf," Morelli said. He looked dubious.

"Well, maybe not meatloaf."

"Then what?"

I gave him a little smile. "It'll be a surprise."

"I don't think anyone's doubting that."

* * *

**A/N** - Thanks for the reads and reviews, everyone! I look forward to hearing what you think of this one. So, what should she cook for him?


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning** – This chapter ends with some strong Cupcake underpinnings, shall we say. Do not let it deceive you. This story is definitely going to get more Babe-friendly in the coming chapters, so if you aren't a cupcake fan, hang in there. And if you are a Cupcake fan, my apologies.

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Mmm… Soup**

"That's a heck of a lot of veal bones." Lula leaned against the handle of the shopping cart, and frowned at the eight pound bag in question. "You aren't going on one of those all meat diets, are you? Cuz I know from personal experience that the only thing they do is make your teeth grow pointy like Dracula."

"They're for the _demi-glace_," I said. "It's a stock common in classical French cooking." Like I'd know. It's what the recipe told me, and I was going to believe it.

Lula looked at the paper I had printed off a low cholesterol cooking website that morning. "'Beef in Sweet and Sour Sauce'," she read. "Don't sound all that French to me. Sounds Chinese."

"I don't think it's meant to be one nationality or another. It's just one of the ingredients that's French."

"Why not just buy a jar of sweet and sour sauce and be done with it? Sure save you a lot of time."

"No," I said firmly. "I want to do this right. I told Morelli I'd cook him dinner, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Seems like a lot of work to me," she said. "Are you sure Supercop's worth it?"

"Well, I want to be supportive," I said. "He ate ten pieces of broccoli last night."

"Ten whole pieces?" Lula looked impressed. "Wow – the man must be serious about this diet then."

I nodded, deciding not to tell her about the gravy boat incident, which was what got me into this mess in the first place. "Now, where do you suppose they hide the mushroom soy sauce?"

"Probably where they hide the rest of this shit," Lula said, waving the paper around a little.

"The mushroom soy sauce is about the only odd thing," I said. "I recognized pretty much everything else in the recipe."

"Yeah, but based on this here shopping cart, I'd say you don't _have_ anything else in the recipe. This meal is gonna cost you a bundle."

She was right. The shopping cart was almost full of food that, under normal circumstances, would have no business entering my apartment. In with the food were a roasting dish and an extra large soup pot. "I can use the dishes again," I said. "And I'll have food left over for other meals. I mean, it's not like I'm going to use the whole bag of carrots in this one meal. I'll have carrots to eat as snacks."

"Hunh," Lula said. "I think you'll forget you had them, and three months from now you'll be pouring them out of your veggie crisper."

I ignored her. I found the soy sauce section. No mushroom soy sauce. "I'll get a bottle of regular, and add some mushrooms to the marinade," I said.

"Makes sense to me," Lula said.

I got the mushrooms, and looked at my shopping list. "The last thing I need is spices for the _bouquet garni_."

"The boe-kay garney?" Lula asked. "What the fuck is that?"

I shrugged. "Just a bunch of spices for the stock," I said. "I think it's French."

"Then why don't they just say bunch of spices? Why get all hoity toity with all this French shit?"

"I don't know – it's what it says. I didn't write the recipe."

"Hunh," Lula said.

We found the wall of spices. "I just love spice jars," Lula said. "They look so pretty all lined up in a spice rack. Do you have a spice rack?"

I shook my head. "I have a cookie jar."

"You should get a spice rack," she said, "and line up all these spices on it. It'll look real homey. Supercop will love it."

She was right – Morelli probably would like it. I picked out the spices I needed, and then found a spice rack. The problem was, the spice rack held twenty-four jars. With the five jars that I just bought, plus the spices I already had at home, that left me with… nineteen empty spaces.

"Go buy some other spices," Lula said. "That'll fill it up, and really impress him." So I did.

Two hundred and sixty one dollars later, I was broke, and my back seat was full. I drove Lula back to the bond's office. A black Porsche Turbo was parked at the curb. I pulled in behind the Turbo, just as Ranger exited the bond's office. He looked in our direction, smiled, and walked over to us.

"Mm – hmm," Lula said, watching Ranger. "Look at that man walk. He's like sex in boots. I'm getting a hot flash."

I rolled down my window, and Ranger leaned in. He nodded at Lula, then looked at the back seat. "Having a party?"

"Stephanie's gonna cook dinner for Morelli," Lula said.

"For the rest of the week?" he asked.

"No," I said, "just for tonight."

That earned me a smile. He eyed the packages again. "This looks serious," he said, spotting the spice rack.

"I've always been meaning to buy one," I said.

"Right," he said. He put a hand behind my neck, pulled me in closer for a kiss, and ducked out again. Then he walked back to his car, and took off.

"Holy cow," Lula said. "If you had any brains, you wouldn't be making Supercop dinner. You'd be making Batman breakfast."

--

It took three trips to get everything out of my car and up to my apartment. I put all the food away, found homes for my new dishes, and set up my spice rack. Lula was right. It did look good and homey, sitting on the counter. It would be a friend for the cookie jar, which had been looking a little lonely since the toaster died.

It was only one o'clock, but according to the recipe, the meat needed to sit in the marinade for a few hours, the longer the better. Morelli was coming by around six, so I decided to marinate the meat now, make the demi-glace, and whip up the sauce. Then I could take a break for a couple of hours, and put everything together once Morelli arrived.

The marinade turned out to be pretty easy. The only problem I had was the mushroom soy sauce, which I didn't have. I needed one teaspoon of it, and wasn't sure how many mushrooms would make a decent equivalent. In the end, I opted for half a teaspoon of soy sauce, and half a teaspoon of chopped mushrooms. Turns out half a teaspoon of mushrooms equals half a mushroom. I had no idea what I was going to do with the remaining twenty-five mushrooms. Morelli didn't like them unless they were on a pizza, and I couldn't think where else to use them. So I threw them out.

With the meat now marinating in the bowl, it was time to put together the _demi-glace_, or the veal stock. It was one of the ingredients I needed in order to make the sweet and sour sauce for the beef. I knew mom made chicken and beef stock all the time, and it never looked that hard – you just cooked up the carcass in a pot, tossed away the bones when the meat all fell off, and voila – you had stock for soup or whatever. The _demi-glace_ had some extra veggies and spices thrown in and a few extra steps, but basically it worked the same.

The first step was to cook the veal bones in the oven. Sounded easy. Except the roasting pan I bought wasn't quite big enough for all the veal bones – they kept sliding around and slipping out of the pan. I found a cookie sheet and placed the leftover bones on it. The roasting pan went in on the top, and the cookie sheet just squeaked in below on the bottom rack.

The bones had an hour to cook, so I decided to go take a quick nap. I woke up three hours later to my phone ringing, and a really bad smell coming from the kitchen.

"Yo." It was Ranger. "I think your stove's on fire."

"My meat!" I didn't even ask him how he knew; I just raced to the kitchen, and found it hazy with smoke. I pulled open the oven door, and gagged as the smoke and smell hit me full blast.

"Should I call the fire department?" Ranger's voice sounded amused over the phone.

I opened a window, waved a towel around, and cleared some of the smoke out. "No need," I said. "I think the flames went out awhile ago. And how did you know there was a fire?"

"Camera," he said. "Bobby saw the smoke, and got concerned."

I looked all around, and sure enough, there was a camera in my kitchen, mounted just above the doorway. "I swear that wasn't there this morning." I knew about the one in the front hall and the living room, but this one was new.

"We're testing out a new product, and it seemed an ideal place to try it. Hector will come over and take it out tomorrow."

"Are there any more I should know about?" Like in the bathroom. Or the bedroom.

"The kitchen's the only new one. Now, do you need assistance?"

I looked at the veal bones. They were black, and stank, but had almost stopped smoking. "No," I said.

"Are you sure?"

I didn't like the amused tone in his voice. "Yes," I said. And I hung up.

I stood staring at the veal bones for some time, not sure if they were still usable. In the end, the clock decided for me – I didn't have the time to run to the market, grab some more, and cook them. I got out my spatula, and scraped them off the bottom of the roaster into the new soup pot. The ones on the cookie sheet had permanently melded to the metal, and had to be thrown out, sheet and all. I didn't see the demise of the cookie sheet as a great loss, as I generally just ate the cookie dough raw anyway.

Then I started to measure out water into the pot. According to the recipe, I needed twenty-four cups of water. My pot reached capacity at twelve cups. The veal bones sank to the bottom, looking very much like the charred remains of a campfire.

The phone rang again. "I thought you said the fire was out, babe."

"It is," I said.

"Then why are you dousing the… What did you say was in the oven? Bread loaves?"

"Veal bones."

There was a momentary pause. "And why are you putting the burnt bones in a pot of water?"

"Because the recipe told me to."

Another pause. "Okay." And he hung up.

While I set the pot to boil, I cut up the vegetables I needed for the _demi-glace_. I needed to roast the veggies in the oven in the same roasting pan as the veal bones. It didn't say whether to clean the pan or not. I went with not, tossed them in the pan, and shoved it back into the oven. There was some smoke as the remains of the veal bones that I couldn't get off the pan finished cremating, and then things settled down.

The pot, meanwhile, had started to boil. I took off the lid, and nearly gagged. If I thought the bones smelt bad before they went into the water, they smelled a hell of a lot worse now. A black, ashy foam boiled over the edge of the pot and onto the stove, and eventually, onto the floor.

As I ran around looking for towels to mop up the mess, the phone rang.

"Are you sure you don't need help?"

"Go away, Ranger!" I shouted into the phone, and hung up.

The recipe said to skim off any foam that formed in the pot. I risked a peek in the pot again, and decided that most of the foam must have departed when the pot boiled over. Good enough for me. I checked on the vegetables roasting in the oven. They looked good, but were stuck to the bottom of the pan. I scraped them up with the spatula, added a can of tomato paste, stirred it around a little bit, and put it back in the oven for another fifteen minutes.

There was a banging on the front door. I looked at the clock, horrified, but it was too early for Morelli. I opened the door, and found Mr. Wolesky from across the hall, holding his nose and looking pissed.

"What the hell is going on in there?" he said. "It smells like you're cremating road kill."

"Nope," I said, "just cooking dinner for my boyfriend."

His jaw dropped. "Are you planning on murdering him? Death by food poisoning?"

I heard a hiss as the pot of veal bones started to boil over again. "Oops! Gotta go!" I slammed the door on Mr. Wolesky's shocked face, and ran back to turn the heat down on the pot. And open the living room window.

I had a few minutes before the vegetables would be done, so I decided to put together the _bouquet garni_. Itwould go into the pot with the roasted vegetables. I measured out all the spices and garlic, and was a bit thrown when I read I was supposed to tie them up in cheesecloth.

I phoned my mother. "What is cheesecloth, and would I have any in my house?"

There was a pause. "What do you need cheesecloth for?"

"It's for the spices. I'm making Joe dinner."

I swear I heard my mother crossing herself. "Use an old t-shirt," she said. "Something cotton."

I hung up, and ran for the bedroom. The problem was, I liked all my shirts, and as much as I liked Morelli, I wasn't about to ruin a good shirt in a pot of soup. However, I didn't have the same kind of emotional attachment to a sock, so I grabbed a clean one out of the drawer, and went back to the kitchen. I dumped the spices and garlic into the sock, and consulted the recipe. I was supposed to use household string to tie up the spices in the cheesecloth, or in this case, the sock. Hmm… what was household string? I hoped they meant dental floss, because that was the only string-like substance I had in the house besides my shoelaces.

The phone rang as I cinched the opening of the sock closed. "Babe… why are you putting garlic cloves in your sock?"

"I'm making a _bouquet garni_."

There was a pause. "What?"

"It's for the _demi glace_."

"The what?"

I exhaled angrily, and pointed toward the pot. "The _demi-glace_. The veal stock."

Another beat of silence. "Let me get this straight. That mess in the pot is supposed to be soup?"

"Yes." Duh.

"And now you plan on putting a sock full of garlic in there?"

"Garlic and a mixture of other spices."

"Babe. Have you lost your mind?"

"What? The sock's clean."

This was greeted by absolute silence, and I decided it would be best to hang up.

I now had to add the vegetables and the _bouquet garni_ to the stock pot. I pulled the vegetables out of the oven. They had overcooked while I was hunting down a sock and talking to Ranger, and were now indistinguishable from the veal bone residue. I managed to pry a few lumps off the bottom of the pan, though I nearly lost an eye when one came loose suddenly and went zinging off my forehead. I put the vegetables into the pot. Then I tossed in the sock.

The phone rang again. "Babe. You aren't seriously going to serve that to Morelli, are you?"

"Sure." I gave the contents of the pot a stir. The veal bones made dull thunking noises against the side of the pot. Small objects that looked like barbeque briquettes floated to the surface, and clung to the sock. I shuddered. "I mean, I'm going to strain it first."

"Do you think that will help?"

I stared into the pot for a long time. It smelled funny. Maybe the sock wasn't clean after all. And the broth was a strange grey color. "I only need a little bit," I said. "It's an ingredient for the sauce that I'm going to make afterward."

"How much do you need?"

I consulted the recipe. "Two tablespoons."

Ranger was full of long pauses today. "Are you telling me that you're making ten gallons of soup stock, and you only need two tablespoons of it?"

When he put it that way, it sounded really stupid. "Umm…"

I could hear Ranger smiling over the phone. "When's Morelli due for dinner?"

I glanced at the clock. "In an hour."

"Get rid of that mess and go get cleaned up. Someone will be by in forty minutes." And he hung up.

I took my new pot outside, and dumped the contents into the dumpster. I looked at what was left over in the pot, and threw the pot into the dumpster too. The roasting pan followed it soon after. I wiped down the counters. The air smelt like burnt sweat socks. I lit a scented candle and opened all the windows. I still smelt burnt socks, and discovered that the smell was lingering on me. I took a quick shower, and threw my clothes into the dumpster.

At ten to six, there was a knock on the door. Ella stood there, holding a crock pot and a grocery bag. Her nose wrinkled a little. "Oh my," she said. "I think you need more candles."

I went to work lighting a few more. "I tried cooking," I said. "It didn't work out."

"I know, dear," she said. "There was quite an audience in the control room." And she giggled.

Oh boy.

She plugged in the crock pot, and pulled out a pan of warm buns. She opened the oven, and immediately closed it again. She looked a bit horrified. "That will need to be cleaned."

Drat. I was hoping I could just throw it out with the pot and pan.

Ella wrapped the buns in a clean towel, and placed a tossed salad into my one and only good bowl. "Here's a nice oil-free dressing for the salad," she said, "and the chicken stew will be hot in a few minutes. Turn it down to the low setting at six o'clock." Then she pulled out an angel food cake, a container of fresh cut strawberries, and a tub of low fat whipped topping. "For dessert," she said. "Everything's low fat and low on the cholesterol."

I gave her a big hug and thanked her. "I'm so sorry you had to go to so much trouble."

She waved it off. "It was no trouble. When Carlos saw the smoke coming out of your oven, he knew you'd need something. I'd best run now. Someone will collect the dishes tomorrow." And she was gone.

I stared after her, stunned. That meant that Ranger knew my dinner was going to tank about an hour and a half before I did. The whole time I was putzing around in the kitchen, Ella was cooking me something edible. I sat down on a kitchen chair, and tried to decide how I felt about that. I really couldn't come to any good conclusions.

I was still thinking about it when Morelli let himself into my apartment. "You should let Dillon know that the dumpster needs to be emptied out," he said. "It smells like some poor animal got torched and dumped in there."

"I'll let him know."

He gave me a quick peck on the cheek, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge. "There's food in here."

"Don't sound so surprised. I told you I was cooking for you."

"Right." He grabbed a bottle of water, and rubbed at his head. Then he made a face. "What's that smell? Have Mooner and Dougie been by to visit again? I thought you told them they couldn't smoke that stuff in here."

"No, it's just, uh, the new candles."

Morelli stuck his nose near a candle and sniffed. "No, that's not it." He rubbed his head again. "Do you have any aspirin, Cupcake? I've got a headache."

"Sure." I went off to the bathroom for the pills. When I came back, Joe was peering into the crock pot.

"What's this?"

"Dinner. What else?"

He put the lid back on the pot and looked at me. "You made this?"

I hesitated. "Yes. Chicken stew. Low fat and low cholesterol."

I never should have hesitated. Joe smiled, and chugged the aspirin. "That's not your mother's crock pot. Where'd you get it from?"

"I bought it."

His eyes narrowed. The smile grew tight. "Try again."

"Okay, I borrowed it."

"From?"

I bit my lip. "Ella."

"Ella." I saw his mind working as he tried to place the name. I knew the instant that he got it, because his face immediately went angry Italian male. "Ranger's housekeeper?"

"Um, yeah."

Morelli set the water bottle down on the counter with such force that water sloshed out of the top and over his hand. "Are you telling me that you had Ranger's housekeeper cook you dinner so you could pass it off as your own?"

"No! I tried making my own meal, but it didn't work out. There was fire and smoke and really horrible smells. So Ranger sent over this meal to replace mine. That's all."

"That's all." Morelli rubbed at his head again. "I think I'm going to go sit down."

I followed him into the living room. "I didn't ask him to send the food over. He saw what happened, and got Ella to whip this up."

"So Ranger was here?" He laughed, like he couldn't believe it.

"No! He kinda… saw it through the video camera." I cringed the instant I said it. This was going from bad to worse.

"Video camera?" He went back into the kitchen, and spotted the camera right away. "I swear that wasn't there this morning," he said.

"It wasn't," I sighed.

Joe was silent for a really long time. "Call him up," he said finally. "I want to talk to him."

I knew this was a really bad idea, but I didn't think I had a lot of options – Joe didn't seem to be in the listening mood. The phone rang just as I was about to dial. I wasn't surprised to hear Ranger's voice on the other end. "Check your email." And he hung up.

I went to the computer, and sure enough, hidden amongst the ads for cheap credit and penis extension clinics, was an email from RangeMan. It contained a link to YouTube.

"Oh, crap," I said.

Morelli hit the link, and started to laugh. "Well, they didn't waste any time. What is that you're burning? Loaves of bread or something?"

"Veal bones." I sat back, and covered my eyes.

"You look cute waving that towel around, trying to get rid of the smoke… I like the little dance in front of the soup pot. It's kind of sexy."

I had to look then. There I was in front of the overflowing pot, my hands in the air, bouncing back and forth from one foot to another. There was no sound, but it was clear enough from the video what I was saying – 'Oh shit oh shit oh shit.' There was nothing sexy about it, but then, Morelli thought everything was sexy. I hid my face once again. "That was to make it boil faster," I said.

"Next time try less dancing." Joe continued to watch and laugh. "Holy shit! What are you doing with that sock?" He looked at me, his expression incredulous. "Were you really going to feed me that crap?"

"No," I lied. I wished I had saved some, though. I would have poured it through the mail slot of the RangeMan building. Teach them for posting me on YouTube. Maybe if I went through the dumpster I could find the sock.

Morelli was still laughing as we ate the meal Ella made. "That was good," he said when he was done. He leaned forward in his chair, and gave me a dark-eyed look. "Now let's talk about payment."

I shrank back from him. "Payment? For what?"

"You said you'd cook me dinner, and you didn't. That means you owe me a night of balls to the wall sex."

There was a small part of me that wondered if the lite beer had kicked in yet, but it was mostly overruled by the heat that traveled through me and went south. "I don't remember coming to that agreement."

"It was an unspoken term." He plopped me down on the counter, and kissed me hard. After a few minutes, he tried to take off my shirt.

"Stop," I managed to utter. "The camera."

"Yeah," Joe said. "You're right. I think he's seen enough."

My mind was hazy from the kissing, but not that hazy. I looked up at the camera, and felt guilty. I thought of Ranger sitting at the other end, watching this, and wondered what he must be thinking. Maybe he wouldn't see it, I thought, but I knew he would.

Then it really hit me. Joe expected sex because I didn't make him dinner. What payment would Ranger expect for making me dinner? I knew what kind of payment he was used to. An even stronger rush went through me, and I moaned.

Joe, meanwhile, picked me up, and carried me to the bedroom. "Oh, and Cupcake?"

"Yeah?"

"Nice spice rack."

--

**A/N** – The recipe Stephanie uses here comes from the Canadian Heart and Stroke webpage. In their defence, the recipe is easier than I made it out to be here. The _demi-glace_ and the _bouquet garni _actually are part of it, but as the recipe explains, are optional. Knowing Stephanie, however, she probably wouldn't have read that far until it was too late.

So, I was trying to come up with a name for the YouTube video of Stephanie's cooking experience, but kinda struck out. Any suggestions?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** – Thank you so much for all the reviews and kind words! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I hope to reply to you all sometime soon – I live with a really demanding person who makes it difficult to find computer time. If it wasn't for the big blue eyes, chubby legs, and little giggles, I might find her really annoying.

This chapter was a lot harder to write, because it kept getting much too serious, and I really want to keep the story light-hearted. I still had to keep some of the serious stuff, but I still wouldn't rank this as angsty by any degree. Things should lighten up again in the next chapter.

Please keep your comments coming! I loved reading them, what you liked and what you didn't like; your feedback is very valuable to me.

All the best, J.

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Test Results**

"Well, looky here!" Lula said when I walked into the office the next morning. "It's the cook! How'd it go? Was Supercop impressed?"

"Yeah," I said. "He thought it was great."

"He like your rack?"

For a moment I had no idea what she was talking about. "Huh? Oh, yeah. He thought the spice rack was nice."

"And what about that boe-kay thingy? He like that too?"

Lula was straight faced, but Connie was hiding behind a file folder, and I didn't like the way that file folder was shaking. "Umm… yeah."

Lula nodded. "Personally, I like my sweat socks with a little less garlic." And she and Connie lost it, and cackled like a couple of crones.

"Who showed you the video?" I said, once they had stopped wiping their eyes. It had been taken down sometime overnight – I checked – but not before it had gotten 30,000 hits.

"Tank did," Lula said. "You even made him laugh."

"Tank laughs?" Connie asked.

"Yeah. He don't make a sound, but his shoulders kinda shake. He says they're gonna call the video 'Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Sauce Pans'."

I pretended to laugh along with them, though secretly I didn't see much to laugh about. It seemed like everyone I knew had seen it, and had enjoyed themselves immensely at my expense. Even Hector had laughed at me. He had come by early that morning to take out the video camera in the kitchen. When he saw me, he said something in Spanish, and then did a fairly credible imitation of the Swedish Chef, only he seemed to be hinting that the Swedish Chef was a better cook than I was.

I waited until Connie and Lula had calmed down a little before asking, "Any files for me?"

"Just one – Mooner missed his court date yesterday. He probably just forgot. And Booger Johnson is still out there. I called his house this morning. Something answered the phone, but I wasn't sure it was human. Might be a good time to go in."

Drat – I'd forgotten about Booger, what with all the blood tests and cooking and goings on. After yesterday's fiasco with the food and pots, I was in need of some cash. "Guess I'll go get him."

"I'll come with you," Lula said. "You might need a full-figured lady to help you apply a little muscle, on account of you being disabled and all."

"Excuse me?" I said. "Disabled?"

"Your cholesterol problem," she said. She gave me a look. "What – you think your fancy cooking skills made us forget? What if you get all weak from eating that healthy shit and need a cheeseburger to get your energy level back up?"

"I think you're confusing high cholesterol with diabetes," Connie said.

"And I'm not disabled," I said. "And I may not even have high cholesterol. I still haven't seen the results of my blood test yet."

I neglected to mention that I had gotten a call from my doctor just before I left for the office. My test results were in, and I was going to see him this afternoon to go over them. He had given me no hints as to whether they were good or bad, so all I could do for the moment was wait – and go eat some donuts to soothe the uneasy feeling in my gut.

"I think we should be cautious, just in case," Lula said. "We'll stop by McDonald's on the way and get some emergency French fries. Maybe some of them chicken nuggets, too. You never know when a chicken nugget might come in handy."

We decided to go get Mooner first, and then pick up Booger. After loading up on emergency supplies, we made our way over to Mooner's house. "Dudes!" he said. He looked down at the McDonald's bags in our hands. "You brought lunch. Very hospitable."

"You can eat it in the car on the way to the station," I said. "You missed your court date yesterday."

"Oh yeah," he said. "Sorry, dude. There was a Star Trek marathon on the Space Channel." He looked hopefully at the bag. "Got any chicken nuggets in there?"

"Yeah, but you got to save some for Stephanie, on account of her condition," Lula said.

Mooner climbed into the back seat. "What condition would that be, dude?"

"She's got high cholesterol. She needs the nuggets, in case she has some sort of attack."

"I _might_ have high cholesterol," I said.

"That sucks, dude," Mooner said. "I could hook you up with something medicinal if you want."

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? It'll cure what ails you. Look at me. Ain't nothing wrong with the old moon man."

That was debatable, but I decided to let it pass.

We pulled up to Booger's house next. "We're making another pickup," I said to Mooner. "I want you to stay in the car, okay?"

"Company's coming? Nice. Should I save some of the nuggets?"

"I don't think that will be necessary."

Mooner ate some fries, and contemplated the house. "I know this place," he said. "Booger lives here."

"You know him?"

"Not socially. Ol' Booger's into some weird shit. You won't see me polluting my body with those chemicals and stuff. I prefer to go organic."

Like that was a big surprise. "We'll be right back," I told him. "Stay in the car."

"No worries, dude. I'll just wait here, and keep the seat warm."

Booger lived in a duplex a lot like my parent's house. "You go around to the back door, and I'll take the front," I said.

"Gotcha," she said. She drew her gun out of her purse.

"No shooting out the lock, or breaking the back window."

"With you, it's all these rules."

If you were out on bond and missed your court date, most people had the sense to bolt when someone rang the doorbell. Not first time offenders; they were new to the drill. So was the case with Booger. I knocked on the door, and Booger answered without hesitation. He hadn't changed a whole lot since high school, except now his nostrils were a little wider and raw looking. The stupid expression he normally wore had also grown a lot stupider over the years. The white streak of powder on his upper lip, trapped in the wisps of a sparsely grown-in moustache, didn't help improve on the overall package.

Booger smiled in a lecherous way when he saw me. "What can I do you for, cutie?"

So he didn't remember me. Sometimes that was a good thing. I handed him my card, introduced myself, and explained the reason for my visit. "It's only a formality," I said. "You just need to come down to the station, and reschedule your court date."

"Yeah, okay," he said. "Wait here, and I'll get my shoes on." And he slammed the door in my face.

I guess Booger wasn't as stupid as he looked, but then again, no one could be that stupid. "Get in, Lula!" I shouted. Then I rattled the doorknob, and almost fell inside when the door flew open. Booger had been in such a hurry that he forgot to lock it.

I heard the back door bang open and Lula crash through the house. We met up in the living room. Lula had her gun drawn and was aiming it at everything. "Where's he at? Where's the little snot at?"

If Booger hadn't gone out the back, and he wasn't hiding behind the sofa, then he must have gone upstairs. Sure enough, we could hear frantic footsteps above us, and then the sound of a toilet flushing. "Go out back and make sure he doesn't go out the bathroom window," I told Lula. The bathroom window was directly above the roof that covered the back door, and made for an easy way to escape from the second story of the house.

Lula scurried on back, and I ran upstairs, reaching into my bag for my stun gun. All the doors were open except for the bathroom, and this one was actually locked. Booger, the idiot that he was, flushed the toilet again, giving away his position. What the hell was he doing in there?

If I had been Ranger, I would have put a boot to the door and been inside in seconds. I wasn't that talented, but I had learned a thing or two about bathroom locks ever since my mother locked herself in that one time and wouldn't come out. All I needed to undo this lock was a thin object to poke through a hole in the knob. A nail worked best, but I didn't have one. So I tried the wand from my mascara. The lock popped on the first try. Chalk one up for burg ingenuity. I shoved the door open.

To my surprise, Booger wasn't trying to escape. Instead, he was kneeling in front of the toilet, frantically slitting open bags of white powder and dumping them in the bowl. And we're not talking about the miniscule baggies of coke one would get from a street dealer. These were the giant economy size; we're talking flour sack sized bags of coke.

He turned toward me, a bag in his hands. Coke poured out onto his knees and spilled out over the floor. For a moment, we just stared at each other, me stunned by the stockpile of drugs, Booger stunned because I was able to break through his defence system so quickly.

He recovered faster than I did. "Oh shit!" he said. And he threw the bag of coke at me, and dove out the window.

The bag hit me in the chest, and exploded. Coke was everywhere, in my eyes, my nose, my hair. I opened my mouth to yell at Lula, and the powder flew in and made me choke. I couldn't see, and I couldn't breathe. I dropped my stun gun and stumbled out of the bathroom. I fell to the floor, and coughed hard to clear my lungs.

Through my watering eyes, I became aware of someone standing over me. "Are you okay, dude?"

It was Mooner. I coughed again, and with his help, managed to sit up. "I thought I told you to stay in the car."

"And I was going to wait, but I couldn't find the sauce for the nuggets. I thought maybe you had it."

Just then, I heard Lula pounding up the stairs. "I got him!" she yelled. "The little shit jumped right off the roof! Damn near fell on - " She stopped short when she saw me. "What the hell happened to you?"

"It snowed, dude," Mooner said. "It was a snowstorm of epic proportions."

I coughed again. "Booger threw a bag of coke at me."

"Get out! How big was the bag?"

"Big." I swiped at my eyes to clear them. "Where's Booger? Did you say you got him?"

"Yeah. He stumbled coming down off the roof, and I sat on him. He didn't get too far after that. I cuffed him to the porch railing."

Mooner pulled me up to my feet. I stared down at myself. I was white from head to foot. "I can't go to the station looking like this. They'll arrest me for possession."

"Yeah – there's got to be half a kilo on you at least. Try brushing it off."

I patted at my arms and legs, raising a cloud of dust that sent Mooner and Lula back a step or two. It was snowing again. "I don't think this is working," I said.

"How about the vacuum?" Lula said. "You just stand real still, and we'll vacuum you."

I looked at the state of the carpet. "I don't think Booger owns a vacuum." Plus, I didn't relish the idea of being vacuumed. It didn't sound all that comfortable.

Mooner was already poking around in a nearby cupboard. "He has a carpet sweeper," he said.

"Pass." I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt, and shook it, then waved my arms around to clear the air. I coughed again as some of the powder went into my mouth. "It tastes sweet," I said.

"Sweet?" Lula said. "Coke ain't sweet." She ran a finger down my arm, and sampled it. "That ain't coke," she said. "It's real familiar, though."

I tried some myself, and immediately knew what it was. "It's powdered sugar."

"What? Are you sure?"

I gave Lula a look. "You think I wouldn't know powdered sugar?"

"Sorry," she said. "I forgot who I was talking to." Then it hit her. "You mean to tell me that idiot has been snorting powdered sugar?"

We both looked at Mooner. He shrugged. "Like I said, the dude is into some weird shit."

Yeah; either that, or he was just really fucking stupid.

We went outside, and found Booger just where Lula said he would be. Apparently he wasn't completely recovered from his encounter with her, because he smiled at us in a slightly dazed way. "Hey, Mooner," he said. "I didn't know you were here. How's it going?"

"All is well, dude."

Booger looked over at me, and frowned. "And look here! It's the narc!"

"I'm not a narcotics officer," I said. I removed the cuff from the railing, and attached it to his other wrist. "I'm a bond enforcement agent. As I explained to you before, you're in violation of your bond."

"Yeah, but you're going to narc on me now, aren't you? Tell them about my big stash." He put emphasis on the word 'big'. He looked at Mooner. "I made a big score, man. I got the discount rate, I bought so much. And it's good stuff, too. It's premium shit. It stings a little, but you don't feel any withdrawal or anything." He glared at me. "And I had to flush it because the narc here came to arrest me."

I shoved Booger into the back of the car. "The police don't generally arrest you for possession of powdered sugar," I said.

"Powdered sugar? What are you talking about?"

"That ain't premium shit you got upstairs in your shower, you big dumb dummy," Lula said. "That there was powdered sugar. You know, what you put on a cake."

"What? Are you sure?"

"We had an expert analyze it," Lula said. Mooner nodded in agreement.

For a long minute, Booger considered this. Finally he said, "No wonder I wasn't getting a buzz." He looked over at Mooner again, and smiled in a dopey way. "Got any nuggets in that there bag? I'm starved."

--

I got Booger and Mooner to the station, and then drove Lula back to the bond's office. Connie gaped as I walked through the door. "What the hell happened to you?" she asked.

"I'll let Lula explain," I said. It was twelve o'clock now, which gave me just enough time to go home and get cleaned up before my doctor's appointment. I handed over my body receipts for the boys, and waited while Connie wrote out the checks. I took them, and said, "I'm taking the rest of the afternoon off. I'll see you tomorrow."

I walked out of the bond's office, and found Ranger leaning against my car. He was in his usual black, his eyes hidden behind mirror sunglasses. He looked darned good leaning up against the side of my car. He even made my battered old junk heap look good, and that was hard to do to a Ford Fiesta.

He smiled when he saw me. "I heard you had a run in with a bag of sugar," he said, "but I figured that was just code for a trip to the bakery."

"Nope," I said. "Sugar junkie hit me with his stash."

He looked at me for a moment, then put back his head and laughed out loud. "I can always count on you to brighten my day," he said. His fingers found their way to my belt loops, and he yanked me against him.

I tried not to moan at how good his body felt. "I wouldn't get too close," I said. "Your blood sugar might go up."

"It's always up around you," he said.

From where I was standing, that wasn't the only thing that was up, and it was putting me into a right state. "I think I'm supposed to be angry with you about something," I said.

"Could be possible," he said. His lips found my jaw, and he started kissing his way down to my chin.

"Yeah," I said. I tried hard to focus. "Something about a video… that you posted on the internet…"

I felt him laughing. "Sorry about that, babe," he said. "But at the time, it seemed the best thing to do."

That brought me out of my Ranger-induced stupor. I pulled back from him as far as he would allow. "Embarrassing me worldwide was the best thing to do?"

Ranger sighed. "Things were deteriorating between you and Morelli. The video diffused the situation as quickly as possible."

I brushed off his hands. "You're acting like Morelli was going to hurt me or something." I waited for Ranger to deny it, but he didn't. "Morelli would never hurt me!"

"Morelli's under a lot of strain, babe."

"He's been on a diet for two days!"

The look he gave me was suddenly penetrating. "It's more than just the diet, and you know it."

I stared back at him. "I don't know what you mean." But I did. And he was right – it wasn't the diet and the cholesterol that were the main root of our problems.

Ranger was still staring at me, his expression still serious, waiting for me to say something. "Morelli wouldn't hurt me," I repeated.

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Ranger said. "But the diet alone would challenge him. He's not going to be himself for awhile. I just want you to be cautious."

"And you think this public poaching is being cautious?" I asked.

He didn't answer, just gave me one of his 'man of mystery' smiles. He placed a hand behind my neck, and drew me in close to him. "I think I should take you home and dust you off."

The serious discussion was over; thank God. I shuddered as his lips found their way back to my neck. "Will that take long?"

"Hours," he said. He licked and kissed his way to my ear. "I'd want to be thorough."

I thought it might be best to end it before I went totally crazy, and ripped off all of his clothes. "I don't have hours," I said. "I have an appointment to get to."

That made him pause, and he pulled back a little. "A doctor's appointment?"

I nodded – there seemed to be no point in hiding it from him.

"Do you want someone to go with you?" he asked.

Great – the fear I had for this afternoon's appointment must have been more apparent than I thought. "No," I said. "That's okay. I think I can manage."

He smiled at me. "Go get 'em, tiger." He kissed me, with lots of tongue and wandering hands. And then he was gone.

--

My little interlude with Ranger ate up the time I had to go home and change before my doctor's appointment. Lula and the boys had also eaten all the McDonald's, including the nuggets on reserve for emergencies, so I wasn't going to get any lunch either.

I was ushered into one of the little rooms around 1:30, and the doctor came in just after that. "Holy crap," he said. "Do you know you're covered in dust? You look like you've spent all morning working in a cement factory."

"Powdered sugar accident," I told him.

"Oh. Are you a baker?"

"Bond enforcement agent." When this got me a blank stare, I added, "Bounty hunter."

The doctor blinked at me a few times, and then shook his head. He flipped back a page on his clipboard. "Okay… we got the test results back on your blood work. Your LDL cholesterol, the 'lousy' kind, is in a perfectly acceptable range. Nothing to worry about there. So is your HDL cholesterol, or the 'healthy' kind. Do you eat a lot of fish? They contain a lot of healthy fat that helps increase your HDL levels."

"I don't eat fish." Unless it was breaded, and came in a box marked Captain Highliner.

"What about nuts? Olives?"

"I eat a lot of peanut butter and olive sandwiches."

"Well, keep eating them, because they're obviously doing you some good," he said.

"So… I have nothing to worry about then?" I was starting to feel relieved. And vindictive. All week people have been telling me I was doomed. As soon as I got out of there, I was going to get a meatball sub. And I was going to eat it in front of them.

"Well, I didn't say that," the doctor said.

The air went out of my tires, and I sunk a bit in the chair. "Oh?"

"Your triglycerides are a bit higher than I like. Triglycerides are another form of fat in your blood. Usually high triglycerides and bad cholesterol go hand and hand, but for some reason, that isn't the case here. Still, your triglyceride reading is high enough that you will need to make changes to your diet. If the changes to your diet don't improve it, then we'll have to put you on some medication."

I was starting to feel the first twinges of panic. "What kind of changes?"

"Well, simple sugars are one of the main culprits behind high triglycerides. So no alcohol, no sweets… and no sugary, fatty foods, like doughnuts, cakes… that sort of thing."

My fingers tightened on my t-shirt. There went the base of my food pyramid.

"I also want you to eat more fruit and vegetables, and less red meat. Get some exercise too – at least thirty minutes, five times a week." He scribbled something on a piece of paper. "I'm also going to send you in for another blood test, this one for blood sugar levels. Sometimes, when you get a high triglyceride reading like yours, it's an indicator that you might be developing diabetes."

I heard a strange tearing sound, and looked down. My emotions had caused me to rend my garment.

"Good grief," the doctor said, staring at my shirt. "Calm down a little."

"But… diabetes…" That was serious.

"Do you have a history of diabetes in your family?"

"No." I gulped. "Heart attacks."

"Then it's good we caught this now," the doctor said. He sat down, and put a hand on mine. "Remember, your bad cholesterol level is low, and you're not overweight. I doubt you have diabetes, but it's always best to check. And yes, you have some history of cardiovascular disease in the family, but you were smart, and got tested. With a few precautionary measures, you should be fine. Okay?"

I breathed deeply, and smoothed out the rip on my shirt. "Okay."

The doctor smiled at me, and patted my hand. "Good. So get this test done, cut out the sugars, and we'll get your triglycerides tested again in a month. Then we'll take it from there. Now go home, and stay away from the powdered sugar." And he left.

I drove home in a daze. Rex was sleeping in his soup can. "Wake up," I said. "Come out of your stupid can and entertain me." Rex twitched, but didn't come out. I went to the freezer and opened up the door, looking for cookie dough. Then I remembered that I couldn't eat cookie dough anymore. It was probably a good thing that I didn't have any in the freezer, then.

I opened up the fridge next, and sighed. It held a bag of leftovers from dinner at mom's, four Corona's, and half a cake that said 'Happy Birthday Ralph'. I pulled out the garbage can, and though it physically hurt, I threw out the birthday cake. I cracked open the beers, and poured them down the sink. Then I opened up the bag of leftovers. I put the pot roast and potatoes back in the fridge. Then I took the bag into the living room, and sat on the couch. I stared into the bag, and the pineapple upside down cake contained within. I knew I should just throw it away, but I couldn't for the life of me do it.

I don't know how long I sat there staring into the bag, but it must have been awhile, because the next thing I knew, my door was being unlocked, and Morelli strolled in. He carried some containers from the Chinese restaurant down the block. "Hey, Cupcake." He paused. "What are you covered in?" he asked.

"Cocaine."

He looked at me, then shook his head, and went into the kitchen. I heard him rummage through the cupboards, looking for dishes. A minute or two later, he came into the living room, carrying two plates. He handed one to me. It contained steamed rice and vegetables, and grilled chicken. A Ranger meal. So much for not sharing in Joe's diet. So much for being allowed to eat what I wanted. Connie and Lula had been right. I was doomed.

Morelli turned on the television, and found a game. "What's in the bag?" he asked.

"Pineapple upside down cake."

He peered into the bag. "I hope you plan on sharing that," he said. "That's a big piece."

"I'm not sharing."

"I'll trade you sexual favors for half."

"I can't eat it," I said. "I'm not allowed."

"Says who?" He grabbed the remote, and switched to another game.

"My doctor," I said. "I got my blood test back today."

Finally I had his attention. He turned off the t.v., and looked at me. "What did he say?"

"My cholesterol is fine."

His eyebrows went up beyond his hairline. "Really?"

I bristled. "Yes, really. He said my lousy cholesterol was low, and that my healthy cholesterol was high, just like it should be."

Joe looked angry. "I don't believe it," he said. "You and I have been eating the same diet for the last two years. How can your cholesterol be fine, and mine not?"

"He said it was because I ate peanut butter and olive sandwiches."

"Are you nuts? Peanut butter and olive sandwiches? What the hell are you talking about?" He stood up, and started pacing. "He must have made a mistake. You've got to be tested again."

"He didn't make a mistake," I said, really angry now. "My cholesterol is fine, just like I've been telling everyone for the last few days. And I'm not going to get retested, so you can just forget it."

Joe was furious. "Well, if you're so healthy, why can't you eat the cake?" he said.

Damn – I was kind of hoping he'd forgotten that part. What I was about to admit shot my self-righteousness out the window. "My triglycerides are high," I muttered.

He stood in front of me, hands on hips. "Your triglycerides are high. So you do have high cholesterol."

"No, I don't. Triglycerides are different. They can go up when you eat too much sugar. So I'm not allowed to have sugar."

Joe's eyes widened. "You can't have sugar?"

I sighed. "No beer, no sweets, no doughnuts… no pineapple upside down cake. For a month."

Joe stared at me for a long time. Then he sat down, and started laughing. "You can't have sugar," he said. "That's funny."

I stood up. "This is nice. Did I laugh at you when you told me your cholesterol was high?"

"I'm sorry, Cupcake. But you're addicted to sugar. I don't see how you're going to survive."

"Neither do I. Do you recall what happened last time I went off sugar?"

"Yeah – you swapped out sugar for sex. It was great."

"It wasn't so great," I said. "You couldn't keep up with me, remember? You said I put Mr. Happy into a coma."

"You were demanding it every couple of hours. That would put anyone's Mr. Happy into a coma."

"You locked yourself up in the guest room and wouldn't come out."

"It was only the one night. I had a broken leg, for crying out loud. I had to sleep sometime."

I glared at him. "You told me to wear a shirt with my boobs hanging out so Ranger would take up some of the slack."

Joe's face darkened. "I had a broken leg," he said. "I was exhausted. I wasn't at the top of my game and I wasn't thinking clearly. I am now. So let's leave Ranger out of this particular discussion. If you go off sugar again and find you have certain needs that want tending to, then I'll be tending to them. No one else. End of story."

It probably would have been wisest to let it go. I suppose when it came to my sex life, Joe did have some say in the matter – he was my boyfriend, in a manner of speaking. But I hated it when people told me what to do. I had been told that I couldn't eat sugar any more. I had been globally embarrassed on the internet, and had had a bag of powdered sugar thrown at me. So what I said next kind of just popped out there before I could stop it.

"And what if Mr. Happy decides to go 'soft' on your new healthy diet? What use will you be to me then?"

Bringing Ranger into this discussion had been a bad idea. But bringing impotency into it was an even worse idea. Joe looked suddenly murderous. He stalked toward me. Geez, what if Ranger was right? I stepped back, very afraid, and fell down onto the couch. He towered over me.

"Remember that time you asked me if I would love you as much if we couldn't have sex, and I said yes, but not as much?"

I nodded. Like I'd ever forget that.

"Well, now we're even." Then he reached forward, and snatched the cake bag out of my hand. "I'm taking this," he said, "and I'm going to eat it all." And he boxed up the chicken and the vegetables. His plate and mine.

"Wait a minute!" I shouted. "What am I supposed to eat?"

"Ask Ella," Joe said. And he left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – The Tastykake Incident**

"What do you mean, you can't eat no sugar?"

I sighed. I had already explained my triglycerides problem to Lula and Connie, but so far the implications of what that might mean to my diet didn't seem to be impacting on them. "Sugar makes my triglycerides worse, so I need to cut back on the sugar. After a month, the doctor will test me again to see if my levels have improved."

"You cut back on sugar before. Remember?"

"I remember." Man, did I remember. "And I know it didn't turn out so well. So this time I got a plan."

"Oh, boy," Lula said to Connie. "This is gonna be good."

I ignored her. "I'm going to take up a hobby. Something that will keep my mind and hands busy."

"You did that last time," Lula said. And Connie laughed.

"It's not that kind of hobby," I said.

"No?" Connie said. She gave Lula a look that said, _Yeah right._

"No." I smiled. "I'm going to make chainmail."

I got them that time. Lula and Connie stared at me for a good ten seconds.

"You're gonna make what?" Lula finally asked.

"Chainmail. Like what the knights used to wear."

She stared at me some more. "Why?"

"Because it's cool and unique." It was a lie. I had no interest in chainmail as an art form. It just looked tedious enough to keep me distracted from the doughnuts.

Lula looked dubious. "Why don't you just take up knitting?" she said. "Then you could make Officer Hottie a scarf for Christmas."

"I don't want to knit," I said. "I tried that in high school, and it wasn't the hobby for me. But this one will be good. And I'll end up making something useful."

"Like what?" she asked. "A dress? A quilt?"

"Well, I thought I'd start with a doily," I said.

Connie and Lula exchanged looks again. Connie shrugged. Lula then narrowed her eyes at me. "Are you sure that was sugar that you inhaled yesterday, and not something else?"

"Yes."

"Because you're acting real weird. Look at you – you're all jittery."

"That's just the coffee," I said. "It was the only breakfast food I had that didn't have sugar in it."

"How many cups of coffee have you had this morning?"

"Five." Just talking about it made me realize how hungry I was. And how badly I needed to pee.

"This is real bad," Lula said. "Like I told you before, you're a compensator. Sugar is your comfort food. You need something to replace all that sugar you normally eat, and I can tell you now, caffeine ain't it. You look like you're about ready to tap your way out of your shoes."

"I'm not replacing sugar with caffeine. I told you, that's where the chainmail comes in. It will keep my mind busy until my sugar cravings disappear."

"I don't know, Steph," Connie said. "Making chainmail? That seems a little… you know… weird."

"Lots of people do it and enjoy it. Plus it's time consuming and mentally challenging."

I could see in their minds that they thought making chainmail might be a bit too mentally challenging for me. "I think you were better off with boinking," Lula said eventually. And Connie nodded in agreement.

"Well, I currently don't have anyone to boink, so it's chainmail or nothing."

"What happened to Officer Hottie? He not on the case?"

"Umm…" What to say here? That I'd pissed him off so badly that he walked out the door with my cake? That I challenged his manhood, and now I was unlikely to see him or the cake again? "We had a fight last night, and he left… early."

"Well, then, get busy with Batman," she said. She said it like it was the obvious answer.

"What are you talking about? I can't get busy with Ranger! I'm with Joe now!"

"You just said you had a fight," Connie pointed out. "You said you had no one to boink."

"Well, yeah… But we have fights all the time! This is just a temporary… thing! We'll make up, and I'll be back to boinking Joe. And Ranger's just a friend. There's nothing going on there."

"Then why did Batman walk in here yesterday looking like he'd been hit with a powdered sugar truck?" Lula folded her arms, and raised an eyebrow. Connie leaned forward in her chair, her face expectant.

Oh crap. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said.

"Bullshit," Lula said. "We saw you through the window. You two were all over each other."

"Mm-hmm," Connie said, fanning herself with a file folder.

Crap de dee crap crap. "That was… It was windy. The wind blew the sugar off my shirt onto his."

"Right. And your handprints on his ass came from?"

My hands, probably. I swallowed. "Got any new files for me?" I asked Connie.

"Nope," Connie said. "Just some high rollers for Ranger. He'll be here in a few minutes."

Crapola. Just the mention of his name was enough to make me start panting. If I smelt him, or heard his voice, or, God forbid, felt him… God, I really needed a doughnut. No, no doughnuts. I needed to get out of there before he arrived.

"Are you okay?" Connie asked. "You just started sweating."

"Okay, then," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait a minute!" Lula said. "Where are you going?"

"Shopping. I need some… supplies."

"I've seen that look. That's a birthday cake look."

"It is not!" I tried again, this time hoping to keep my voice within its normal octave range. "I need pliers and - " I pulled a piece of paper out of my purse. "And some vice grips and side cutters - "

Both Lula and Connie went suddenly still, and were staring over my shoulder at something – or someone – behind me. A hand settled on my neck, and I very nearly wet my pants. My early warning system hadn't worked. A bad thing to happen when your bladder was as full as mine was.

He stood right behind me, like he usually did, leaving no air space between us. "Going to do some home repairs, babe?" Ranger asked. "Need some tools?"

"Stephanie here thinks she's gonna make chainmail, on account that she can't eat sugar no more," Lula said.

That made Ranger pause. "I suppose in some context that's supposed to make sense, but it's lost on me," he said.

His breath was in my hair and on my cheek. He was all warm and sexy and smelling of Bulgari. I bit my lip to stop the moan from escaping me. "Gotta go," I said. And I shrugged out of his grasp, and bolted for the door.

I was two steps from my car before someone grabbed my arm and dragged me into the alley. "In a hurry, babe?"

His eyes were dilated almost black. I felt a rush of heat travel straight through me to my doodah. I needed to get out of there before I did something really stupid – like jump him. "Yeah, I just got this thing I need to - "

"I don't think so. Now talk."

Talk? Yeah right. I was beyond the capacity for coherent thoughts, let alone voicing them. "About what?"

"Your test results," he said. He gave me one of those looks that would have ordinarily sent me running in fear, only this time it was like a hand stroking me in all the right places.

Did he not see what he was doing to me? I so needed a doughnut. This was getting ridiculous. I reached into my bag, and pulled out the piece of paper my doctor had given me yesterday, and handed it to him. I was too afraid to speak, because who knew what would come out of my mouth – nonsense babble, moaning, an invitation to get naked? I clamped a hand over my mouth, just in case.

Ranger smiled a little, and took the paper. He opened it up, and scanned it quickly. His eyes widened, and he looked at me suspiciously. "Are these results accurate?"

Some of the horny feelings I was having dissipated, and became annoyed feelings. First Joe, and now Ranger. "Yes."

He looked back at the paper. "Your cholesterol numbers are better than mine," he said.

Trust Ranger to know what his cholesterol readings were – he probably measured them twice a week. Still, to find out my numbers were better was surprising. "Really?"

He nodded. He continued to read, and paused once again. Then he smiled. "Babe," he said.

I knew exactly what test result he was looking at now. "I know, I know."

"This is going to make things really interesting."

No shit.

"So I assume you've been cut off from sugar."

I nodded miserably. "Yeah," I said. "For a month."

"No offence babe, but it's going to take longer than a month to lower that number. That's a mighty high number."

I glared at him. "Stop smiling," I said. "It's not funny."

The smile instantly faded. "You're right. It's not a laughing matter." He folded the paper up, and slid it back into my purse. "I'm glad you got the test done. It would have been dangerous to leave things the way they were."

I was thinking that things were getting pretty dangerous now, and he wasn't even touching me. It was his smell and his body heat, but most of all his voice, driving me closer and closer to the edge. Ranger was a man of few words; why did he have to use so many now?

"Earth to Babe," he said. "You alright?"

I licked my lips, and tried not to pant. "I really need a doughnut," I said. "Or something else."

The smile was a full out two hundred watts now. He plastered himself right up against me, and slid his hands up the back of my shirt. "I could give you that something else," he said.

"I know you could," I said quickly, "but here's the thing. I'm still with Morelli. I mean, yes, we had a fight last night. And yes, he kind of left me… in a predicament. I mean, he stole the pineapple upside down cake, and I really needed that to tide me over, especially since he wasn't there to take care of some of my cake hormones, which are now becoming sex drive hormones. So as much as I'd like you to step in and, uh, help me out, I don't know if I could do that to Morelli. Not until I knew exactly where I stood with him."

Ranger was still smiling. "That was awfully informative, considering I was only offering you breakfast."

I'm not much of a blusher, but I instantly felt my face grow hot. "I knew that." Liar, liar, pants on fire.

His hands were on the move, coming around from my back to my front. "You're giving information to the enemy again, babe. You really got to stop doing that."

I swallowed. "I can't help it. Your hands are really distracting." That, and my brain didn't seem to be attached to my mouth.

He kissed me, one of his gentle appetizer kisses. But when he pulled back, I was shocked to discover he was no longer smiling. His eyes were black again, and he looked deadly serious.

"I suggest you sort out your problems with Morelli," he said. "You haven't been holding me at arm's length for awhile, Stephanie, and I told you what I would do if I felt your guard relax. Give me any more speeches like that, and I will take advantage."

He didn't give me any time to respond. He kissed me again, and this time there was nothing polite about it. He pressed me up against the wall, and shoved a leg between mine. His hands moved up over my bra and cupped my breasts in an all out grope. I felt my eyes start to roll back in my head. If he shifted that leg even just a little bit, it would be game over.

Then, as quickly as it started, it ended. He pulled away from me, and said, "Call me if you need anything. Oh, and Babe? I wouldn't take up chainmail as a hobby. I don't think you have the hand strength to snip the rings." And he was gone.

I stood there for awhile, trying to get my breathing under control, but was nowhere near successful. Eventually I gave up, made sure my buttons were all buttoned, and went back into the bond's office.

Both Lula and Connie looked at me, and their mouths dropped open. "What the hell happened to you?" Lula asked. "Were you attacked?"

Oh, yeah; but not nearly enough to my satisfaction. "I need a Tastykake," I said.

"But you're not supposed to - "

"You're not listening," I said. "I need a Tastykake. NOW."

"Yikes," Connie said. She opened up her desk drawers and rummaged around. "I don't have any. Honest. Sorry."

Lula stood up, and rammed herself into her coat. "I got your back, girlfriend," she said. "Let's go."

--

"Okay," Lula said half an hour later, "this is just getting ridiculous. How can this town not have any Tastykakes?"

I bounced in the seat next to her, agitated beyond all control. We had been to every 7-Eleven and convenience store in Trenton, and half the grocery stores. Not a one had any Tastykakes. It was like they had simply vanished overnight.

"I need a Tastykake," I said for the millionth time.

"And we'll get one," she said. She was starting to look a little nervous, and I think it was because of me. "But how about we get a doughnut in you for now, you know, just to tide you over?"

"No. No doughnut. Butterscotch krimpet. I need a butterscotch krimpet, dammit!"

"Alright, alright!" Lula shouted. "Here, look! Walmart! Now, if anyone is gonna have a krimpet, it'll be Walmart. Walmart has got everything in the whole world."

I was out of the car before Lula had even successfully parked. "Come on!" I said. "Hurry up!" I was dancing in place, like I had to pee. Actually, I did have to pee – those five cups of coffee were catching up on me – but everything else was secondary right now, even necessary bodily functions.

"I said alright!" Lula jogged after me. "Get out of her way!" she warned the other customers. "Let her through!" And darn it all if they didn't move, though whether it was because of my expression or the sight of Lula in her lime green spandex dress, I suppose I'll never really know.

I ran to the snack food section, Lula thumping after me. "I can see them!" I shouted. "Look! They have some!" I wanted to cry, I was so happy.

"Thank God," Lula puffed. "After all this, I'm gonna need me a Tastykake, too. I want one of them cream filled buttercream cupcakes. And a couple of those krimpets. I just love them krimpets."

Lula was really limiting herself. It was my plan to eat three in the store, and then stockpile some for emergencies. The way I saw it, one butterscotch krimpet a day probably wasn't going to harm my triglycerides _that _much. It certainly seemed safer than trying to fight off Ranger, which is what I would be doing if I didn't get some sugar into my system, stat.

We came to a halt in front of the Tastykakes, and the smiles froze on our faces. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It had to be wrong.

Lula recovered before I did. "What in the hell is this?" she said. "Sensible Snacking Tastykakes?"

I snatched a package off the shelf. "These are sugar free," I whimpered. I scanned the shelf quickly, but they all said the same thing. Some were even low fat and low calorie. "I can't eat these! These won't work!" The box shook in my hand, and tears started to form in my eyes. "I need a butterscotch krimpet!" I wailed.

"Now you just stay calm," Lula told me. "I bet the regular ones are just hiding behind all these boxes." She started pushing boxes around, and some fell down to the floor.

A pimply faced employee came running. "What are you doing?" he said. A crowd of old people at the end of the aisle looked in our direction, saw some potential entertainment value, and came over to watch.

"What am I doing?" Lula said. "You mean, what are _you_ doing, stocking only low-fat, no sugar Tastykakes? Where's the good stuff at? Where you hiding the ones with all the trans fats and sugar?"

"This is what we carry," the kid said. "This is all we've ever carried. No one wants to eat the other ones. Said they were bad for them."

"Well, we want to eat the other ones," Lula said. "I mean, look at us. Do you honestly think sensible snacking is our goal?"

The kid looked us up and down. "I guess not," he said.

"Damn skippy," Lula said. "Now where's your manager at? We're gonna exchange words."

Another kid, not much older than the first one, was already running toward us. "I'm the manager," he said. "Is there some problem here?" He took a look at Lula in her green dress, and visibly gulped.

"Yes, we've got a problem," she said. "What gives you the right to stock only sugar free Tastykakes? We want regular ones. Ones with sugar and fat in them."

"You tell 'em, mister!" an old lady shouted. "Like we care about all this healthy eating shit. What do we want to do, live to be one hundred?"

"We don't carry the regular cakes," the manager said. "Only the sensible snacking ones."

"You don't get it," Lula said. She shoved me in front of the manager. "My friend here has a medical condition. If she don't get a butterscotch krimpet into her soon, her hormones will go out of whack from lack of sugar, and she'll get the urge to jump any guy she sees."

"You can jump me anytime you want, cutie," an old geezer said. He made kissy noises at me.

"Not just any guy!" I said. Just a couple of guys. Or maybe one. The jury was still out on that.

Apparently the manager was a little more discriminating than the old geezer, because he took one look at me, and backed off a few steps. "We carry the full line of Hostess cupcakes," he said. "How about a twinkie or a ding-dong?"

"We don't want no ding-dongs!" Lula said. "We want butterscotch krimpets!"

"Yeah! You can take your twinkies and shove 'em!" And the old lady busted a box of sugar free Tastykakes on the manager's head.

Things were a little hazy after that. I remember a lot of yelling and snack cakes flying. I don't remember if I was responsible for any of the mess – when Lula found me, I was hiding under a shelf. Her green dress was covered in sugar free Tastykake residue.

"Come on!" she said, hauling me to my feet. "Let's get out of here! These old people are crazy!"

Lula and I were used to being under fire, so we ducked down and hauled ass out of the store. We pulled out of the parking lot just as the first police cruiser pulled in. We drove for about five blocks in a post-Tastykake-riot induced stupor. We were covered in cake and simulated icing and cream filling. It felt like a regular day of bounty hunting for me, only without a paycheck to show for the effort. We didn't even get a butterscotch krimpet out of it.

At least those feelings that had led us on this stupid adventure had been effectively quashed by the Tastykake fight. Now I was just feeling stupid, and that, in my book, required one thing.

"How's a boston cream doughnut sound?" I said to Lula finally.

She let go of the breath she'd been holding. "Sounds about right to me," she said.

We had just hit the bakery parking lot when my phone rang. It was Morelli. Lula went inside to fetch the doughnuts while I answered.

"I got a report about a riot over Tastykakes at the Walmart this morning," he said.

"Is that a fact."

"Reports say it was started by a large African American woman and a Caucasian woman with an apparent addiction to butterscotch krimpets." He paused. "You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"

"I'm not allowed to eat sugary things, remember?"

"I'd stick with that story if I were you," he said. "So... about last night..."

"You stole my cake. I'm not sure if I want to talk to you."

"I know. I thought I might make it up to you. Can I come over tonight?"

I knew exactly what he was offering. It was the same thing he always offered – dinner, a little television, and a roll in the hay. In the past I hadn't minded his make up pizza nights; but now that he and I were both on restrictive diets, they had lost their appeal. Even the sex part wasn't as exciting as before – and I was hornier than ever. Suddenly I felt a little sad.

I stared at the bakery window. Salvation lay within. I could tell Joe to piss off, and then I could stuff myself with boston cream goodness. Or, I could tell Joe to come on over, and just get these cravings over with. Hell, he'd probably come over now if I asked him – and that didn't necessarily make me feel any better.

Better yet, I could get stuffed with Ranger goodness. All I had to do was hang up on Joe, and dial Ranger's number. It was frightening how appealing that idea was.

"Cupcake? Are you there?"

"Yeah," I said. I sighed. "Actually, tonight's no good. How about tomorrow?"

"You sure?" he asked. He sounded amused. "Do you think you'll make it to tomorrow night?"

It was a dumb thing for him to say, considering there was another man out there who had already put in his offer. Of course, if Joe knew what Ranger had offered, he would have grabbed his gun and gone after Ranger hours ago. "Yeah, I'm sure." And I hung up.

Lula came back into the car a few minutes later with two large bags. She looked at me. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah." But I wasn't. I felt like a balloon that had had all the air let out of it.

"You still want the doughnuts?"

The air was filled with the aroma of fat and sugar. It was intoxicating. Hell, yeah, I wanted a doughnut. Then I thought of Ranger, and how proud he was of me for taking charge of my health.

"I guess I better not," I said.

Lula didn't even look all that mad. She simply nodded, and got out to put the doughnuts in the trunk. "You're probably just tired because you ain't getting any energy, now that your sugar intake is on the fritz," she said when she got back inside. "I bet a cheeseburger would perk you right up. And being as you don't have high cholesterol, you can have two or three of them."

I thought about it for awhile. "I couldn't hurt to try," I said.

"Darn tootin'," she said, and drove us to McDonald's.

I got home an hour later, feeling full but not necessarily satisfied from the cheeseburgers. All the sugar/ sex drive hormones that had dissipated with the Tastykake riot were back in full force. And I could only think of one answer to my problem. I picked up the phone and called Ranger.

"Yo," he said.

"Yo yourself." I paused, suddenly afraid to ask him what I wanted to ask him.

"You need something, babe?" He sounded amused, but also not.

I swallowed. "Yeah," I whispered. "But it's not what you think."

--

**A/N** – The Tastykake riot idea came to me after reading a posting on Janet Evanovich's website. It was taken from the Q&A section, and reads as follows:

Q - I was so excited our local WalMart began carrying a limited selection of TastyKakes! This weekend, I stroll by the display, and what do I find? Sugar Free Sensible Snacking Tastycakes! No "regular" Tastykakes. I'm thinking that if I'm looking for a tastykake, then sensible snacking is not my goal! What would Steph and Lula do when faced with this situation?

A - I guarantee words would be said with management.—Alex

For those who don't know, Alex is Janet's daughter.

Again, thank you for all your reviews and kind thoughts. I appreciate them greatly!

All the best, J.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N – **Once again, thank you for all of your kind words about this story. The response to this story has been overwhelmingly positive, and I couldn't be happier. I'm especially glad that people are finding this story as funny as I do, and that I'm not just sitting here, giggling at nothing. So thanks!

**A warning to sensitive readers** – if you don't like fart jokes, you ain't going to like this chapter.

All the best, J.

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Whoo, Doggy!**

"I hope that will get you started, dear," Ella said.

"Yes, this is great. Thank you." I gave Ella a big hug. "It was awfully nice of you to do this."

"Nonsense," she said. "You need any more help, you just let me know."

I didn't hear the door open, but the familiar tingling up the back of my neck told me Ranger had just entered the conference room. Ella smiled at him, just as he laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Well, I should get started on dinner," Ella said, standing up. She looked at Ranger expectantly.

"Want to stay for dinner, babe?" Ranger asked.

I paused. On the one hand, I couldn't refuse any meal of Ella's; on the other, I would be eating with Ranger. I already found Ella's food orgasmic under normal circumstances, but sitting next to Ranger, suffering under my current condition, was probably asking for trouble.

"It's just dinner, babe." I could hear the amusement in his voice.

Yeah right. It was never just dinner with Ranger. But who was I kidding – it was an Ella meal. "Okay." I smiled at Ella. "That would be great." She smiled back at me, nodded to Ranger, and left us.

Ranger sat down on the table just in front of me. "Did that help you out?" he asked.

I looked down at the stack of papers that Ella had given me, and the pile of notes that I had made for myself. "Oh, yeah," I said. I now had recipes, menu plans, and shopping lists, all designed around my dietary concerns. "I had no idea she was a dietician. Did you hire her so your men wouldn't get fat?"

He smiled in his man-of-mystery way. "Something like that." He held out his hand; I took it, and he pulled me out of my chair. "I'm proud of you, babe. You're taking this seriously, making good decisions."

"You'd take that back if you saw what I did after you left this morning," I said.

The smile grew. "I heard about it."

I groaned; all of Trenton had probably heard about it. I had deliberately left my phone off, and knew my mother was probably going nuts right about now. I figured I would wait until tomorrow, when hopefully some of the sugar would be out of my system, and mom would have had a chance to iron or tipple.

"It was your fault," I said.

He laughed. "It's my fault you had a food fight in the middle of a Walmart?"

"Yes! You left me in a state!"

His eyes grew dark. "You weren't the only one left in a state, babe."

Oh, boy. I so didn't need to hear that right now. I swallowed hard, and resisted the urge to ask him to turn up the air conditioning.

"You were right to not eat those sugar-free Tastykakes, though," he said, changing the subject. "They're so full of chemicals that I'm surprised the FDA classifies them as food."

"That's exactly why I didn't want them."

He smiled. "Right."

"And I even managed to turn down a boston cream doughnut."

"But not three McDonald's cheeseburgers."

I blushed – one of his guys must have been following me again. "They didn't have any sugar in them."

"That's trading one evil for another," Ranger said. "You'll recover faster if you cut out the sugar and fat."

I scowled. "I know that." I made a show of putting all my papers together, just so I wouldn't have to look at him.

He moved in behind me, and turned me around so we were face to face. "I know it's not easy," he said, "but I know how strong willed you can be. You can do this if you just push yourself a little more."

"I tried going off sugar before, though, and it didn't work."

"Last time you made a bad deal with your mother. This time it's your health on the line. Remember that, and you'll succeed." He pulled me in even closer – now we were face to face, chest to chest, and pelvis to pelvis. "My babe doesn't give in," he said. "I know, because I've been trying to get you to give in to me for months now."

I wasn't sure who kissed whom first; I had the sneaking suspicion that it was me, or maybe it was a mutual thing. All I know was one moment we were standing facing each other, and the next we were lying on the conference room table, my papers getting mussed and torn beneath us as we fought to deprive the other of oxygen.

It was the feeling of him popping the buttons of my shirt open one by one that made my senses return to me. I managed to pull my lips away from his and pant, "We can't do this here."

"My building," he said. He tugged the corner of my shirt down and bit my shoulder, while his other hand slipped inside and fiddled with the clasp of my bra.

I felt myself going cross-eyed. "Yes, but we're being filmed."

His hand went to his belt, and I heard the jangle of his keys. "Scrambled," he said. And he went back to ravaging my shoulder.

"The control room windows look into this room," I said, "and there are no curtains on the windows."

He stopped kissing me, and sighed . "You're trying to tell me something, aren't you."

I pressed my forehead against him. "I'm sorry," I said. I mean, who was I kidding? I wanted to do it, and it was more than just sugar deprived hormones that were pushing me. But I still was with Joe, and I wouldn't cheat on him. But man, it sure was getting hard to stop at the preliminaries.

Ranger kissed my cheek. "No, this one's my fault." He sat up, and pulled me up so I was sitting beside him. "What did I tell you?" he said. "My babe doesn't give in." He drew a finger down my cheek.

What went unsaid was that one day I would give in. Ranger knew it, just as well as I did. The question was, when would I give in? What would it take for me to decide to step over that line?

We adjusted our clothes, gathered up my papers, and left the conference room. Hal was on monitors; he wouldn't look at us, and his face was bright red. Obviously Ranger hadn't scrambled the cameras soon enough. Ranger picked up a file from Tank, and then directed me toward the elevator and the seventh floor.

Dinner was waiting for us on the counter when we arrived – a chicken and vegetable stir fry, heavy on the vegetables and low on the sauce and meat. Ranger popped open two bottles of sparkling water, and we ate the food at the counter, which was much less threatening than eating at the table would have been.

"I've got a distraction job for you, if you're interested," he said, once we were finished.

"Sure." Thank goodness – we were going to talk about business and not get down to business. Plus, there was no denying I could use the money.

He took me into his study, and passed me a folder. "We're setting it up for tomorrow night around ten," he said. "The skip's name is Douglas Parcheesi. He's an accountant by trade, mainly for the mob. He's wanted for tax evasion and money laundering."

I flipped through the file. "Is he dangerous?"

"Not especially, but neither is he especially bright – and he carries concealed."

No surprise there - half of Trenton carried concealed. "What does he like?" I asked. "Conservative? Slutty?"

"Hockey jerseys and short shorts," Ranger said, smiling. "And push up bras."

Great – sports slut. Oh well, at least I wouldn't have to wear panty hose. "Any particular team?"

"New York Islanders."

Gah – I hated this guy already. "I don't have an Islanders jersey," I said. "I root for the Rangers."

He smiled. "I'll guess you'll have to convert him," he said.

I shuddered, knowing how close I was to being converted to a ranger of my own.

--

Somehow I made it out of Ranger's apartment without having sex with him. I went home, and tossed and turned for what felt like hours. I hadn't had any sugar all day, and I was suffering big time. I was tempted to call Morelli over, but I immediately had guilty thoughts about Ranger. Those, of course, led to hot thoughts about Ranger on his conference room table. Finally I gave in and had a lengthy visit with the shower massager. I felt better afterwards, and fell right to sleep.

The next morning I checked in with the bonds office. There was still no work for me, so I decided to hit the grocery store and pick up some of the items Ella recommended. I was actually feeling kind of excited. The meals Ella drew up for me were simple compared to the veal stock disaster, and I was feeling fairly confident that even I couldn't screw them up. Plus, it was nice to open the fridge and see food sitting inside. Like the spice rack, it felt homey.

I had just put everything away when the phone rang. It was Morelli. "Bob missed you last night," he said. "He's looking forward to visiting you later."

"Oh crap!" I said. "I forgot – I'm working tonight, but not until ten."

There was a pause. "Are you working with Ranger?"

No point beating around the bush. "Yeah, but it won't take long – maybe an hour or so. You could come for dinner at least."

Another pause as he contemplated this. "What are you doing for him?" His voice was suspicious.

"Just helping out on a stakeout," I said. It was kind of true; it was a stakeout. I figured telling him my particular role wouldn't win me any points.

He was silent for a long time. Finally he said, "All right." But he didn't sound pleased. "Do you want me to bring something?"

"Nope," I said. "I'm making us dinner."

"Oh God."

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm making chili dogs."

"I can't eat chili dogs." I could hear the wistfulness in his voice.

"You can eat these ones. I'm using soy weenies, veggie chili, and low fat cheese. And instead of fries, we're going to have three bean salad."

There was a pause. "You really don't have to go to so much trouble."

I scowled into the phone; either he was turned off by the soy weenies, or he didn't trust my cooking. Not that I could blame him, of course – my last attempt at cooking had been well documented. "Tell you what," I said. "I'll make it for my lunch. If it doesn't work out, I'll call you."

"And then I can bring something?"

I sighed. "Yes, then you can bring something." And I hung up.

The meal was surprisingly simple to make – the hardest part was opening up all the cans. I mixed up the three bean salad and the vinegar dressing that Ella recommended, then heated up the chili in one pot, and cooked a weenie in another. I shredded a small amount of low fat cheese, and put the chili dog together. I took a bite, and practically groaned – it was so close to the real thing that if I closed my eyes, I could believe it was bad for me. It was so good that I ate three more of them. I even ate a cup full of bean salad – that was pretty tasty too.

Joe and Bob came by at about six-thirty. He peered warily into the kitchen. "Is it safe?" he asked.

"Ha ha," I said. I looked down at his hand. "What is that?"

"Beer."

"You're not allowed to have beer."

"It's lite. I figured since we're eating fake dogs, we might as well have fake beer."

"I can't drink beer. No alcohol for a month, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." He took a beer for himself, and popped the rest in my fridge.

"It smells good in here." Morelli sounded surprised. Bob was wagging his tail and looking for the take out bags. He seemed confused when he couldn't find any.

I put my annoyance about the beer and Joe's confidence in my cooking skills aside and put the chili dogs together. "Wait until you try these," I said. "They taste so good." I piled three chili dogs on his plate, three on mine, and three on a plate for Bob. Morelli and I got bean salad, and Bob got dog crunchies.

I watched as Morelli picked up one of the dogs. He eyed the weenie with suspicion. "Soy, eh?"

"Try it," I said. "You can hardly tell the difference. Look, Bob likes them." Bob had already eaten his three chili dogs, and was moving onto the kibble.

"Bob eats furniture," Joe said.

I ground my teeth together. "Try it," I said.

Morelli sighed, and took a bite. Once again, he looked surprised. "This _is_ good," he said. And he ate up the rest of the dogs.

"Don't forget the bean salad," I said.

He shook his head. "Sorry, Cupcake," he said. "I'll eat a veggie dog, but I won't eat the beans unless they're cooked in tomato sauce and bacon."

"Fine," I said, "then I'll eat them." And I did. I popped the button of my jeans when I was finished, and whooshed out a breath in relief. That was a lot of food, and topped off with the four dogs I ate at lunch, I was starting to feel a little bloated.

Morelli got another beer, and turned on my television. Bob jumped up beside him, and fell asleep. I stared at the two of them for a moment, then went into the kitchen and cleaned up, feeling resentful. No "Thanks for the meal, cupcake." No "That was good, cupcake." No "Let's celebrate you not burning down the kitchen, cupcake." He wasn't even considerate enough to keep the beer out of my house, or not drink it in front of me. I knew how good dogs and beer tasted.

I couldn't help but think of Ranger, and how he drank sparkling water with me last night, even though he probably would have preferred a beer or wine. And he had been proud of me for making good food choices. Morelli hadn't even acknowledged my efforts to stick to a diet. And he wasn't even helping with the cleaning up. He was treating me like a burg housewife.

I must have been banging the pots and pans around a little loudly, because Joe said, "Something on your mind, cupcake?"

"No," I said.

"Leave those dishes and come sit down," he said, patting the spot next to him. And he smiled.

I grumbled, but decided the dishes could wait until the morning. I sat down, and he put an arm around me, pulling me in close. It would have been romantic, if he hadn't been holding Bob the dog in much the same way.

About an hour later, I groaned. Morelli looked at me. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"My stomach's a bit upset." I let out a belch that was chili dog flavored.

Morelli had the good graces not to wave his hand around in the air, but he did wrinkle his nose a little. "Maybe you should brush your teeth," he said.

Yeah – and find an antacid. "I'll be right back."

The bathroom break helped. I went back to sit with Joe. He neglected to put his arm around me this time.

Fifteen minutes later, the beans kicked in. I squirmed in my seat.

"What's wrong with you?" Morelli asked.

"Nothing."

"Still not feeling well?"

I let out another belch. "Not particularly," I said. And then I farted – loudly.

There comes a point in every relationship where you eventually become so comfortable with one another that the passing of gas is seen as no big deal. Joe and I had reached that comfort level quite awhile ago – or at least, Joe had. He had no problem with lifting a leg and letting one fly. I didn't mind so much, so long as he wasn't sitting on my coffee table when he did it. I had also made it clear from the beginning that I would not tolerate any commentary on his flatulence. Why men had to rank their farts according to quality and volume was beyond me. If he thought he did a good job, then he could keep it to himself.

I wasn't so keen on sharing my farts in public – it just wasn't something the Plums did. So this fart – this astronomically loud and long fart – was a bit of a shocker to both of us.

"Holy shit!" Morelli bounded off the couch. "What the hell was that?"

"Oops! Sorry!" And before I could stop it, another one squeaked out. This one wasn't so much noisy as it was smelly. Bob woke up and looked around, wondering who his competition was.

This time Morelli did wave his arms around in the air. "Damn, Steph! What have you been eating?"

"The same as you," I said. "Chili dogs and bean salad."

"How much did you have?"

Too much, apparently. "What's the matter? Can't a female pass gas?"

"Cupcake, I didn't even know girls could fart like that," he said. "It sounded like a shotgun blast." He looked down at my butt, as if expecting to see green smoke.

I stood up, which set off another fart. Morelli jumped back out of my way, and Bob, all excited, farted too, afraid he might be missing out on something.

"Jeez," Morelli said, covering his nose with his hand, "I don't know which one of you smells worse."

Hypocrite - like he had never stunk up my living room. I went to open a window, and headed for the hall.

"Where are you going?" Morelli asked.

"The bathroom," I said. I needed to get tarted up for the distraction job, but I obviously needed to take care of other pressing business too.

"Thank God," he said. Joe looked after me with something akin to horror. I stomped down the hall, and ate a few more antacids.

I stayed in the bathroom awhile, showering and putting on makeup. Then I got dressed. I had originally planned on wearing jogging pants over the short shorts, figuring Joe wouldn't approve of the subtleties of Ranger's operation; but after the meal, and the beer, and the farting, I figured, to hell with him. I was still feeling pretty gassy too, so I wasn't particularly thinking about sparing anyone's feelings in my hour of discomfort.

The shorts were super short, just this side of a crescent moon. Top that off with the push up bra, Rangers jersey, ankle socks and runners, and I was every drunk jock's dream date. I traipsed into the living room.

Despite the window being open, it still smelled kind of funky. Bob was asleep on the couch, and Morelli was gone.

I found a note attached to Bob's collar. _Sorry Cupcake, but I got a call while you were in the shower – some gang bangers went at it, and I've gotta go clean up the mess. I'll stop by and pick up Bob in the morning._

I'm not normally a gambling girl, but I'm betting it was the farts that drove him away. After all, he usually took Bob home with him – he probably figured why stink up his place with Bob's chili dog farts when my house was already lingering with it. It was just as well. I wasn't feeling particularly charitable toward him this evening, and with this gas problem there was no way in hell I was going to have sex with him. At least now I had the bed all to myself. Plus, if he had seen the short shorts, he would have popped a vein and gone all macho, and the way I was feeling, that was a scene I didn't need. Plus, no sex with Joe meant no guilty Ranger thoughts.

My phone rang at nine-thirty. "Yo."

"Yo yourself."

"Tank will be by in five minutes. He'll bring the wire. You ready?"

"Yep. I'll meet him downstairs."

"Wait in the lobby." And he hung up.

Tank's expression was unreadable as I climbed into the Rangeman SUV. He merely handed me the wire and the file folder on Parcheesi. "Nice jersey," he said.

"Thanks." And that was the end of the small talk.

I slipped the wire in just under my bra, then studied up on Parcheesi as we drove to the bar. Parcheesi was not your typical accountant. He looked more like your typical wiseguy, wearing a short sleeved, three button knit shirt, and casual slacks. His hair was slicked back, and his face screamed weasel. He looked like an ass grabber. Sure enough, I found out he had been charged with sexual harassment three years ago, something Ranger neglected to tell me.

Halfway there, I discovered another hitch. My intestinal woes didn't like the car ride. I really didn't want to fart in front of Tank, but if he hit another pot hole, we were going to have a problem. My only hope was to hold it in, and let it rip once I was out of the car and in the noisy bar. No one would notice in a sports bar. I hoped.

Unfortunately, it was a lot harder to hold onto a fart than I supposed. I started squirming in my seat, hoping a change in position would help, but it didn't. Then, to top it all off, these really awful gurgling sounds started up, and it was obvious they weren't hungry gurgle sounds. These were angry, why-did-you-eat-seven-soy-dogs sounds.

I could see Tank sneaking peeks at me now. He looked uncomfortable, kind of like the time I was handcuffed to him after Stiva kidnapped me. Only this time he looked afraid as well as uncomfortable.

His code of silence was finally broken when I let out a not-too-subtle burp. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." I felt like I was going to explode. And five seconds later, I did - I let out a fart that would have sent Bob running for cover.

Tank coughed, but didn't say anything. He just rolled down the window, and kept on driving. A minute later, we pulled into the rendezvous point, and we both jumped out of the SUV like it was on fire.

Ranger and Lester were waiting for us. Lester was grinning like mad. "Okay," he said, "who laid the bomb in the car? Was it you, doll?"

I froze in horror. "What?"

"Come on, don't deny it," Lester said. "We heard it over the mike, didn't we, Ranger?"

"Santos…" Ranger warned. But even he looked like he was thinking of smiling.

The mike? Then it hit me – I was wearing the wire, and it was obviously live. My face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"It was me." Tank's voice was a bit strained, like he had just been holding his breath. "I ate that burrito for dinner."

Lester eyed him, then shook his head. "Nah, it wasn't you. I heard your burrito fart before. It didn't have the right timbre."

Ranger, Tank and Lester looked at me. I gave an exasperated sigh. "Okay," I said, "so it was me. Deal with it."

Lester laughed. "Ha! I knew it! Girl, where'd you learn to fart like that? That had some serious power behind it. You must have pushed it out, huh?"

"Eew!" I cried.

"Enough." Ranger's voice was quiet, but firm. Lester sighed, and mouthed, "We'll talk later" at me. Like I was dying to get together with him and discuss our flatulence.

"Our man's in there," Ranger said. "Hal and Binkie are in place in the bar. Lester will follow you in. Tank and I'll be waiting by the door."

I nodded, and then realized a snag in the operation. "I'm not allowed to drink right now," I said. "What if he buys me a beer or something?"

"Just pretend to drink it," he said. "Trust me, he isn't going to be paying attention to anything but those shorts. Now go get him, tiger."

The bar was half a block over. It was your typical sports bar, filled with lots of televisions and pictures of has-been hockey and football players. I looked around for my mark, and found him at a pool table with a few other guys. He looked a lot like his picture. So did all the other guys he was playing with.

I got myself a diet coke, and plunked myself down at the bar, making sure I was in full view of the pool table. Less than a minute later, Parcheesi was standing beside me, giving me a full out leer. Ranger's intel was good – Parcheesi was eying my boobs through the jersey with obvious interest.

"Come play some pool with us, cutie," he said.

I knew exactly why he wanted me to play pool with him – my shorts were going to ride up to kingdom come whenever I bent over. That wasn't my biggest concern about bending over right now, though. I decided to end this quick. I just wanted to go home, disinfect myself with Lysol, and drink Pepto Bismol until all was right with the world.

"I'm not very good at pool," I said. "I'm good at other things though." I gave him my sexy smile, and crossed my legs.

He laughed, his eyes never leaving my legs. "I bet you are, hot stuff," he said. "Why don't you show me after I finish this game?" And he tugged off the chair, and dragged me over to the pool table. He handed me a pool cue, and pointed to the table. "Go on," he said. "You're going to put the 7 ball in the pocket there."

Just as I suspected, it was a long shot, and the way he had me positioned, I would practically have to lie across the table to reach it. "Wouldn't it be easier from over there?" I said, pointing to the other side of the table.

His friends laughed, and Parcheesi smiled. "You'd think so," he said, "but this way is better. Now just lean over…" He pushed me down so I was splayed across the table, and he leaned in on top of me.

Across the room, I could see Hal and Binkie on their feet, looking like a couple of angry dinosaurs. I shook my head at them, and readjusted the pool cue. "Now I hit the ball like this, right?" And I jerked my arm back, and shoved the end of the cue into Parcheesi's groin. Then I farted on him for good measure.

"Ugh," Parcheesi said. He fell down on the floor, clutching his crotch. Then the smell hit him, and he turned green. His friends took one look at him, and burst out into troll-like laughter.

"Oh my goodness!" I cried. "I'm so sorry! I didn't break anything, did I?" I managed to prop him up, but I couldn't get him to his feet. His buddies were laughing too hard to be of any help.

"Need… air…" he choked.

"Good idea! Here, I'll take you."

"Let me help you, miss." It was Hal. He grabbed Parcheesi by the back of his shirt, and hauled him to his feet.

His buddies stopped laughing when Hal got involved. "Hey, wait a minute!" Then they saw Binkie standing there, his arms crossed, and they backed off.

"She… farted… on me," Parcheesi groaned.

"Now why would I do that?" I said. I turned to his buddies. "We'll be right back, okay?" And I followed Hal as he dragged Parcheesi out the door, where Tank and Ranger were waiting for us.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N** - Thanks again for all your kind words! Once again, I'm overwhelmed by your support for this silly little story. Thank you.

Cupcake warning in this chapter. We'll just blame Joe's stupidity on his diet.

All the best, J.

* * *

**Chapter 7 – Good Vibrations**

Morelli looked at his plate, and made a face. "Chili dogs again?"

"You won't eat any of the other things I've made," I snarled.

He snorted. "That's because everything else you've made was crap."

I very nearly clocked him with the chili pot. "You just wouldn't eat them because they have beans in them."

He gave me a look. "The chicken stirfry you made yesterday did not have beans in it. It had burnt chicken and vegetables. And the marinara sauce you made the night before was like eating tomato paste."

I felt my hand tighten on the spoon I was holding. Unfortunately, he was right. Even with Ella's simple recipes, my cooking was shit. The only thing I could make that tasted like food was the chili cheese dogs, and I was getting tired of them, too. Not that I was going to tell Morelli that.

"Well, why don't you cook something for us then?" I snapped.

"I did," he said. He looked angry. "You wouldn't eat it."

"That's because I'm not allowed to have frozen waffles, syrup and beer!"

Morelli shrugged as if to say, 'details', and then put his plate on the floor. Bob instantly dove for it, and wolfed down the chili dogs.

Now I was really mad. "I made those for you! Bob's already had his share!"

He stood up from the couch, looking all mad and dangerous. "I'm not eating another soy wiener – ever again."

"Fine," I said. "Then you can make your own dinner – in your own house. And take your farting dog with you!"

Bob looked between me and Morelli and whined. He had half a weenie hanging out of his mouth. Morelli and I looked at Bob, and then looked at each other.

Morelli actually had the nerve to smile. "Now look what you've done," he said. "You've upset the kid."

"You started it." And I stuck my tongue out at him for good measure.

Morelli and I had been snapping at each other for days now. My cooking may have been adding to his general malaise, but I was pretty sure that he was just grouchy because he hadn't had a meatball sub in awhile. My grumpiness was also diet related, but it wasn't all due to lack of sugar; I wasn't getting my daily dose of Ranger. He had been called out of town on business, and no one knew when he was going to get back.

It was funny that I missed him so much. I sure didn't miss Morelli this badly when he was out of town last month, and so far, Ranger had only been gone four days.

I turned my back on Morelli, and went into the kitchen to dump the remaining chili in the trash. Morelli somehow took that to mean the fight was over, and that I wanted him to be all lovey-dovey. I tell you, when the boy was wrong, he was really, really wrong. But I let him put his arms around me anyway, because I didn't want to be charged with assaulting a police officer.

"Maybe you should take some cooking lessons or something."

I tensed in his arms. "What?"

"Have you thought about asking your mom for help? She makes a nice spread."

"Mom also uses half a pound of butter in the mashed potatoes," I growled. "There is no such thing as a low cholesterol meal at her house." Or low sugar. Mom hadn't understood why I couldn't eat dessert any more. She though smaller portions would be okay – she couldn't get that no portion was the only appropriate portion for me now. That, coupled with the fact that Joe could only find broccoli to eat there, meant we no longer attended the Friday night dinners. Which also meant mom was no longer talking to us.

"Well, maybe my mom could help," he said. "She could teach you a few things. Now she's a great cook."

I had a full out body shudder. "I am not taking cooking lessons from your mother! My cooking is fine!" Except Morelli and I were both starving on it, or getting indigestion from it.

Morelli sighed, one of those long suffering sighs that suggested I was stubborn. Then his arms tightened around me. "I have an idea," he said. "Let's order in a pizza."

His suggestion surprised me; by the tone of his voice, I thought he was about to offer me sex. I would have turned down the sex, but pizza… Ooh… Melted cheese and fatty sausage…

I shook my head to clear the dirty thoughts away. "No. We're not allowed."

"Come on," he said, his voice like velvet in my ear. "We've been on this diet for two weeks now. That's better than most people would manage, and you know it."

He was probably right. And to be honest, there was no reason why I couldn't eat the pizza – it wasn't like it was loaded in sugar, after all. Except I'd be trading one evil for another. I thought of Ranger, and shook my head. "No."

Morelli kissed my ear, and my neck. "You know you want it. Think of it… Lots of full fat cheese… thick, greasy sausage… a nice, chewy crust…"

I moaned; I couldn't help it. "We shouldn't…" I said.

He knew I was caving. He pulled me in closer to him. "No one will know," he whispered. "It'll just be this one time, I swear."

Once again I thought of Ranger. He'd know, even if I hid in the closet and ate the pizza there. I sighed. "I can't," I said to Morelli, "and you shouldn't either."

Morelli's frustrations came to a head. He let go of me and started arm waving. "Damn it, Steph, the doctors expect us to cheat! That's why they set the bar so high!"

I turned around and looked him directly in the eye. "No."

Joe made an angry sound, and made straight for the front hall.

"Where are you going?"

He shoved his feet into his shoes. "To eat pizza. Then I'm going to eat a bucket of chicken."

"What? No! You can't!"

"I can, and I will." He was already zipping himself into his coat. "I'm going to eat the whole bucket, wings included. Hell, I might even eat the bucket itself. If I don't get some grease into me soon, I'm going to go nuts."

I grabbed his arm. "Joe, please! You've done so well so far! Don't give up now!"

What I was really saying was, 'Don't cheat, because if you do I'm going to cheat too.' And I probably would. If he left now and went on a binge, I'd be furious – furious that he was having a decent meal and I wasn't. I'd feel like I was entitled to the same thing, and I'd end up shoving doughnuts and birthday cake in my face.

If only Ranger was here. He would have helped me through this. He'd been nothing but supportive since I told him I was getting tested. But he wasn't here now, which meant I'd just have to deal with this on my own.

I was doomed.

"I tell you what," I said, "we'll order in Chinese. We can have rice, and veggies - "

"We've already had that three nights this week," Morelli said.

I was reaching now. "We'll have sex!"

He gave me a 'nice try' smile. "We were going to have that anyway."

"After you insulted my cooking? Fat chance, mister!"

His face darkened. "Are you coming or what?"

I folded my arms and assumed a defiant stance. "No."

"Fine. Come on, Bob – let's go get some chicken." And he left. Bob, the traitor, trotted after him, looking guilty.

I stared at the door for a good minute after he left. I couldn't believe that I had just been abandoned for some fried wings, boobs, and thighs. I stormed to the freezer, looking for cookie dough. The cookie dough was, of course, long gone. Instead I found the carton of unsweetened plain yogurt that was supposed to be my replacement for ice cream. It was frozen solid and bent the spoon. The little I got out tasted terrible, nothing like ice cream. I threw it into the garbage can and started to pace.

It's not like I needed Morelli. I mean, he wasn't offering me any support on my diet. He seemed to believe that his affliction was my affliction, and gave no thought to my suffering versus his suffering. So, really, why was I hanging around him? He was miserable and unappreciative.

Okay, maybe the sex had helped curb some of my sugar hormones, but lately Morelli's performance in the bedroom had been subpar, for Morelli. Maybe it was the stress of the diet, or maybe the lite beer was kicking in. Whatever it was, my sugar substitute wasn't up to snuff; I found myself craving something sugary more than ever. I couldn't even drive by the Tasty Pastry any more for fear that I would break in and obliterate the display cases.

I was still pacing at eleven, hating Morelli more than was probably fair. I went to bed and tossed and turned for what felt like hours. I needed a Tastykake, or a doughnut. Or sex. Sex would be good too. But there was no way in hell I was calling Morelli in to service me; if he went through with his promise to eat fried chicken, he'd be all soft and warm and smelling of grease, and that would be the end of the diet for sure.

Then I remembered the sex toys I'd bought when trying to capture Caroline Scarzolli from Pleasure Treasures. I still had them somewhere. I had been tempted to pull them out during my better days with Joe, just to have a little fun, but had chickened out. After all, good Burg girls didn't use marital aids. I was even too embarrassed to use them solo. But desperate times called for desperate measures. I rummaged through my closet, and finally found the bag hidden under a sweater on the top shelf.

I placed the bag on the bed, and covered it with a blanket. Then I went through the entire apartment and closed all the drapes and turned out all the lights. I put a towel over Rex's aquarium. I turned on the television to drown out any, um, noises. I grabbed my Maglite, went into the bedroom, and shut the door. Then I ducked under the blanket and turned on the flashlight. I felt like a ten year old trying to read in bed after lights out at camp.

The beam of the flashlight reflected off the Pleasures Treasures bag. I stared at it for the longest time. Then I took a deep breath, and dumped the contents onto the mattress.

I took one look at the Herbert Horsecock dildo, and put it aside. There was no way in hell I was using that. It was large enough to prop open a fire door. I wasn't sure why I had kept it. Probably because I wasn't sure how to get rid of it. It had never been used, but it wasn't like I could drop it off at the Salvation Army for them to sell in their thrift store. I decided I'd disguise it in duct tape, and put it in the dumpster behind the bond's office. That way, if anyone found it, they'd just think it was Vinnie's.

The massage oils were also out – they were indicative to solo performances. Looking at them also reminded me of Ranger, and how he had seemed to like them. I remember how he sampled some from my hand. Just thinking about his tongue touching my palm made it tingle. I wiped away a bit of drool that had collected in the corner of my mouth, and put the oils back in the bag.

I looked at the back of the DVD Lula recommended, and shuddered. Nope, nope, nope. No 'Big Boys' for me. That left me the Lady Workhorse personal massager. I picked it up, and just held it for awhile. Ranger had liked this too, if I remembered correctly. I turned on the switch, and jumped when it started to bounce around violently in my hand. Gentle action, my foot; this thing had enough kick to knock out a tooth. And it was noisy – it sounded like the engine of an idling outboard motor. I pulled off one of my socks, and dropped the massager into it. That cut down the noise significantly.

I watched the massager vibrate in the sock for awhile. I knew I was delaying the inevitable, and I felt like an idiot for being so embarrassed. Lots of women – people – used vibrators. And really, how was this any different than using the shower massager? It would actually be more convenient – I wouldn't have to get all wet, and I'd be saving hot water. And this way, I could get it done, toss the thing on the night stand, and go to sleep. Yeah.

I sighed. Might as well get this over with.

Suddenly the blanket was ripped off my head. I screamed. I screamed a second time when I realized it was Ranger standing over the bed.

He looked confused. "Why are you hiding under the covers with a flashlight, babe?"

"Nothing! No reason!" I scrabbled desperately at my bag of goodies, trying to gather them up before he could see them.

"Is that sock… vibrating?"

I looked down at the bed, and watched in horror as the sock containing the massager bounced and twisted its way across the mattress. I dove on it, and felt frantically through the sock for the off switch, but couldn't find it. "It's, ummm… Just give me a minute to - "

Ranger picked up my discarded Maglite, and shone it over the bed. Then he smiled – a full two hundred watt smile. "Babe," he said.

I was tempted to run into the bathroom and not come out until Ranger was gone. Instead, I put everything into the bag, including the vibrating sock, and shoved it under the pillow. My pillow instantly started doing the rumba. I leaned on it, and tried to give Ranger a casual look.

"Did you want something?" I said. "It's kind of late for a visit."

The smile grew. He sat down next to me. "Having a party?"

My ears were burning. "None of your business."

"You embarrassed, babe?"

"Absolutely not. No way. I use this stuff all the time."

He reached under my pillow, and pulled out the bag. "I think you better turn off your sock before the batteries die." He pulled the sock out. It dangled from his fingers and twitched like a freshly caught fish. "What is it with you and socks, anyway?"

I snatched the sock away from him. "They're multipurpose," I muttered. I slid the massager out of the sock, and turned it off. Then I shoved the whole works under the bed.

Ranger laughed out loud. He tugged me in close, and kissed me on the forehead. "Having problems with Morelli?"

I think he asked me the same thing last time I brought this home. Back then, I hadn't had a problem with Morelli. This time, it was safe to say that I did. I leaned into Ranger, and sighed. "He doesn't like the way I cook."

He was quiet for a bit. "I'm not sure how to take that."

"My cooking. He doesn't want any more chili cheese dogs."

"I thought I smelt something familiar when I came in here."

I winced. "That was Bob. I swear it wasn't me. Anyway, Joe wanted me to cheat on the diet, I told him I wouldn't, and he dumped me for a bucket of fried chicken."

He nodded. "Hal said you had a fight."

Stupid security cameras. "Hal should learn to mind his own business."

Ranger picked me up and turned us around so that I was sitting between his legs, and he was leaning against the headboard. "You're my business; Hal was doing his job. When I'm out of town, I feel better knowing you're safe."

"So, what, you came running home because Morelli and I had a fight?" I wish. No, I really did wish.

"No; the job was done."

Oh. "When did you get back?"

"About ten minutes before I found you fooling around with your sock under the blankets."

I elbowed him in the gut. "I was not fooling around with a sock. I was trying to… deaden the sound."

I could feel him laughing. "I hate to break this to you, babe, but you need a thicker sock. I could hear it when I opened the front door, and with the television going. What's it powered with, a lawn mower engine?"

I elbowed him again, this time a little harder, but still not meaning it. He wrapped his arms around me anyway, and held me close. Then he started to nuzzle me. "So is Morelli's affair with the bucket of chicken a permanent arrangement? Or just for tonight?"

I was much too comfortable lying against Ranger like this. He was like a warm, sexy smelling man-sized pillow. "I'm not sure."

He moved my hair aside, and kissed the back of my neck. "What do you want it to be?"

I paused. "I'm not sure."

Ranger's hands were suddenly on the move. "Let me help you decide."

My brain was foggy from his lips and warm sexiness, but it wasn't that foggy. I jumped out of his arms and backed away from the bed. "No way."

He sighed, but he was smiling. "Saw through my sheep's clothing, did you?"

"I think the sheep's clothing fell off when you slipped through the keyhole."

He rose from the bed. "I should be going anyway – it was a long day, and I still have to check in with Tank before I call it a night." His playful look disappeared. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Sure," I said. Ranger's visit had put me at a strange kind of ease, while simultaneously putting me into a right state. I knew exactly what I would be doing once he was gone – I'd be finding a thicker sock.

A bit of the wolf came back to his eye. "I can spend the night if you want."

That was more temptation than I needed right now. "I'll call you if I need anything."

I walked him to the door, just to make sure that he really did leave. He turned to me just before he opened it, and with some quick maneuvering, had me pressed up against the wall.

"Proud of you, babe," he said. And he kissed me so long and so thoroughly that by the time we came up for air, we were both gasping. I wasn't sure exactly what made him proud of me, but I wasn't about to complain.

"Come by Haywood tomorrow around one," he said. "We'll sort out your cooking problem." And he left.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N – **Thank you for all your reviews and kind words! I truly appreciate them! All the best, J.

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Now We're Cookin'  
**

Ever since Morelli and I started these stupid diets, our lives had taken on a certain pattern. We would get together, and fight about food. Then one of two things would happen: we either ate the food, or we got so angry with each other that one of us would just have to leave. Then the next morning, the person who left would phone, we'd talk and forgive each other without ever actually saying the words 'I'm sorry', and that would be the end of the tiff.

And that's exactly what happened the morning after the chicken incident. Only this time, I created a breach of etiquette by calling him, instead of waiting for him to call me.

"Did you do it?" I demanded.

"Do what?" He sounded half asleep.

Duh! "Did you cheat?"

He sighed; I could hear him running a hand through his hair. "No," he said. "I got halfway to Cluck in a Bucket, and the guilt got me. I ended up getting a turkey sub instead."

"Oh." I was… disappointed. I had wanted him to cheat. Not so I could cheat on my diet, but so I could dump him.

I had finally decided, as I lay in bed after Ranger left, that I was ready to do it. I was ready to dump Morelli. Ranger had been right when he said there was more wrong between us than just the diet. We'd been drifting apart for awhile, and always for the same reasons. Those reasons were never going to change, so why would I continue to delude myself that maybe Joe and I could work them out? It would be better for both of us if we just called it a day and moved on.

Of course, that left open the obvious question – was I going to move on to Ranger? Despite his obvious interest, I still wasn't entirely sure what to do. I had just left one relationship where the glue that kept us together was sex; I wasn't sure if I could handle entering another one where the same glue was being used. Ranger had said it himself many times – he wasn't boyfriend material. Ranger was great-sex material, and get-out-of-sticky-work-situations material. These were two important things I valued in a man, but I needed more than that, and I wasn't sure if Ranger would be willing to give me more.

It was all moot now, anyway. Morelli had resisted the call of fast food chicken. And because of that noble gesture, I couldn't dump him. The poor guy was suffering enough – breaking up with him just seemed unusually cruel at this point. Damn it all.

"Your cooking isn't all that bad," Morelli said. He spoke like he wasn't quite sure.

"Is that supposed to be an apology?"

"No – I'm just saying it's not so bad. I mean, you're really trying, and that's… nice."

"Well, it's not like I have much of a choice."

"Yeah."

I had the feeling he had no idea what I was talking about. "I'm on a diet too, remember? I have to watch what I eat too."

"Huh? Oh yeah. I keep forgetting. I've been having these headaches which are pretty distracting. It's because of the medication I'm on – it's a side effect."

"Oh. I didn't know that." Maybe that's why his performance in the bedroom had been subpar. I mean, saying you have a headache was a clichéd excuse, but when you did have a headache, it was hard to concentrate on much of anything. I scowled – there goes another point to the 'Dump Morelli Another Day" campaign.

"So listen… I have to work late tonight. Are you okay to get together tomorrow?"

"That's fine," I said. "I'm working, too."

"What are you up to? We haven't talked much about work lately."

"Um… just a little phone work. Looking for a skip. I'm trying to catch the relatives during the dinner hour." Obviously a lie, but I could hardly tell him I was taking cooking lessons from Ranger's den mother. Not after I had refused_ his_ mother.

He bought the lie – I wasn't sure if he was actually listening. "All right. I'll bring dinner tomorrow." And he hung up.

--

There were no new skips for me that morning – they were all high-risk offenders, which meant they went to RangeMan. This left me some time before I was due to meet Ella at one. I decided that since I might be on the hunt for a new boyfriend soon, it couldn't hurt to get gussied up a little. So I went to visit Mr. Alexander to get my hair done.

The hair visit was a complete success (unlike on other visits, where the grease smell wouldn't go away, or the streaks went too orange). So was the visit to Macy's for a new dress and shoes, and to Victoria's Secret for some new undies. I was feeling so good that I raced home and slipped on the new clothes to wear to Haywood. The sundress came to mid-thigh, and showed off a fair amount of cleavage on top – the bra helped there too – and the three inch heels complemented the dress perfectly. I knew they weren't exactly cooking clothes, but I figured Ella would have an apron to keep me covered.

I pulled into Haywood just after one, and went to the main floor to check in. Cal was at the desk, making for the world's strangest and most intimidating receptionist. "You can go right on up to seven," he said.

That was strange – Ella lived on six. I guess we were going to use Ranger's apartment – probably Ella didn't want me to kill her kitchen. I took the elevator up, and found the door to the apartment unlocked. I stuck my head in, and called out, "Hello?"

"Come in, babe."

"Ranger?" I found him in the kitchen, reading a newspaper at the counter. He was in a pair of blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. He was looking pretty relaxed – he wasn't even wearing shoes or socks. Batman at home. It was kind of sexy. Down girl.

"Where's Ella?" I asked.

"Downstairs, I assume."

"Isn't she going to teach me how to cook?"

He shook his head. "I'm going to teach you."

"You? You can cook?" I knew he could toast bagels, but I didn't know he could cook.

"I can," he said. "I just find it easier to have someone else do it for me."

"You don't have to work?"

"Nope." He leaned against the counter, and looked me over. And smiled. "You plan on cooking in that outfit?"

I looked down at my boobs, which more out of the dress than in, and the heels. "Yeah…"

"It looks new."

I patted my hair. "It is."

He smiled. "It's nice, but I think you should wear something else. I wouldn't want it to get dirty."

"Don't you have an apron?"

The smile grew, and he shook his head. Of course he didn't have an apron. Food probably didn't stick to him.

"Why don't you grab one of my shirts? It should cover up your dress."

"Okay." I turned and walked into the bedroom – and started to hyperventilate. Ranger was going to teach me how to cook! I was completely turned on. It was sexy when men cooked. I know, because before this diet, Morelli used to cook me dinner once in awhile, and I always thought it was sexy. Ranger was going to be no exception to this rule, I was entirely certain.

But there was a certain amount of terror at the prospect of cooking with Ranger. First off, I was going to screw up – there was no question there - which meant I was basically setting myself up to look like a fool in front of Ranger. Secondly, the guy was oozing sex, and I was desperate for sex. If he so much as blinked in my direction, I was going to go up in flames. At the very least, I was going to go cross-eyed, and probably cause a kitchen accident. Thirdly, I was sure Ranger was an excellent cook. Hell, he did everything else well; why wouldn't he be a good cook? But what if he tried to teach me something complicated? He saw what happened when I tried to make soup, for crying out loud. I couldn't handle anything that involved more than three steps.

"You coming, babe?" Ranger called from the kitchen.

I jumped. "Yeah." I opened a drawer, found a t-shirt, and pulled it over my head. It covered my arms to the elbows, and the hem went just past the edge of the sundress. I kicked off my shoes, and padded back to the kitchen.

His eyes darkened when he saw the shirt on me. "If I didn't know better," he said, "I'd think you weren't wearing anything else."

I looked down. Without the shoes, it did look… suspicious. Kind of like I had just crawled out of bed and put on the first thing I found. "Maybe I should put the shoes back on."

"Don't bother," he said. And he smiled in a wolfish kind of way.

Heat shot through me all the way to my toes. "What are we making?" I managed to ask.

He motioned me toward the dining room table. I swallowed, and sat down. He pulled a chair over, and sat down right next to me. Knee to knee. Thigh to thigh. Arm around the back of my chair, hand on my shoulder. If I had a file folder, I would have been fanning myself with it.

"Know what this is?" He slapped a hand down on a cookbook.

I gave him a mock glare. "I have one or two at home."

"I know – this is one of them."

"It is?" I looked at the cover – it didn't look familiar.

He smiled. "I took it off your shelf yesterday," he said. "I thought we'd make something from it."

"Okay – what?"

He slid the book over toward me. "You choose. The only stipulation is it can't be a chili cheese dog. Or soup."

"Don't worry," I said. I took the book, and recognized it as one Ella had recommended to me last week. I grinned nervously as the spine cracked, signifying it was being opened for the first time, and flipped through the pages, stopping at a recipe for chicken. It didn't look too complicated. "How about this?"

He nodded. "Sure. Give it a quick read over while I get us a drink."

"Read it over?"

He smiled as he rose from the table. "You're one of those people who try to build furniture without reading the instructions, aren't you?"

"No – all my furniture has come to me fully assembled." In my experience, second hand furniture always came that way.

He ducked into the fridge for some tonic water. "You should always read over the recipe so you aren't surprised by a step. It's called planning ahead, something which you seem to have a problem doing."

"I do not."

He closed the fridge door and smiled at me. "Babe."

"Okay, occasionally I've been rash. But not anymore. I've been thinking things over very carefully lately, making careful plans." _Plans which involve you, mister_, I thought, _so you just better watch out_.

He seemed amused by this announcement, but didn't ask to find out what my great plans were. He poured the water into glasses, and handed one to me. "Read," he said.

I was halfway through the recipe when his hands fell on my shoulders. "All done?" he asked.

The words had become a blur when his hands first touched me. "Yep."

He kneaded my arms a little. "And?"

I stifled a moan. "It doesn't look all that hard," I said. "You put the chicken parts in a roasting pan, sprinkle a few spices on it, and set it in the oven for about forty minutes."

"Okay," he said. "What else are you going to have with it?"

He was right – chicken on its own was a bit boring. I looked at the book again. "It doesn't say."

"No," he said. "Most of the time you're expected to figure that out on your own." And his hands moved to the back of my neck, and started up a gentle massage.

Damn – he was playing hardball. What did mom serve with chicken? I could barely think with his hands working their magic on my person. "Maybe some baked potatoes?"

He hummed an affirmative. "What else?"

My eyes were rolling backwards. "Carrots? Bean casserole? Broccoli?"

"You want broccoli?" He sounded surprised.

"Isn't broccoli served with every dinner meal?"

"You do realize you will have to eat it."

"Okay, scratch the broccoli."

"And the bean casserole. The baked potato and carrots will be fine. I'd also add a salad, and a dairy product of some kind. The more food groups you cover at a meal, the better." He took his hands off me, and sat down again. "You do know what the food groups are, right?"

"Yes," I huffed. "Ella taught me last week."

"Okay. So what will your dairy product be?"

I thought hard. I was sweating, like I did at school when I was put on the spot by the teacher. "Cheese on the chicken?" I said at last, in a hopeful tone.

He gave me a smile that said, _Nice try._ "A glass of milk would be better."

Damn. "Okay."

"And dessert?"

I perked up. "I get dessert?" I thought of Ella's cheesecake, and immediately started to drool.

I could see that he was thinking about laughing. "How about pudding? A light variety has a small amount of sugar."

"Oh. Sure." Pudding was one of those desserts that didn't thrill me. I hadn't had it in a long time, and light pudding sounded an awful lot like a sensible snacking Tastykake. "I don't really like pudding much."

His smile was positively wolfish. "You'll like mine."

Oh boy.

We made our way to the kitchen, and gathered up the ingredients for the meal. Ranger didn't have a lot of the items on hand, which wasn't surprising – after all, he didn't cook for himself – so he called down to Ella and had her bring up what we needed. She came up within five minutes with all the goods. She smiled at us in a pleased way – she didn't even look phased by me in the t-shirt – and left quickly, as if afraid to interrupt, or get injured.

"So what do you do first?" he said.

He was putting me in charge? "I thought you were teaching me."

"I'll guide you where needed," he said.

"Hunh." That sounded like a clever way for me to do all the work while he watched. I consulted the recipe. "Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees." I went over to his stove, and came to a complete halt. It was all chrome and buttons; it looked like the control panel to launch a rocket. "Where are the knobs? My oven has knobs."

He set the oven for me. "You should check to make sure the oven rack is in the right spot."

I stared at him blankly. "What's the right spot?"

He opened the oven door, and pointed to the rack. "Most of the time, it's in the middle."

"The racks move? I thought they were like… permanently attached." I pulled at the rack, and it slid back. "Hey – it does move!"

I think he rolled his eyes, but I wasn't sure. "Move the top rack down to the middle."

I bent over to pull out the rack, and Ranger cursed. I looked over my shoulder at him. "What?"

His eyes were dark again, and he was staring at my back end. "Nice thong," he said.

I reached around, and discovered that the skirt had ridden up when I bent over. It felt like half my ass was hanging out. I yelped, stood up, and pulled the skirt down.

"Maybe I should put on a pair of pants," I said.

Ranger's voice had a lust-filled quality that made me weak at the knees. "Maybe you should, or this cooking lesson is going to be over in a real hurry."

I practically ran to his room, and rammed myself into the first pair of jogging pants I could find. I cinched them tight, and went back to the kitchen, feeling thoroughly embarrassed and a whole lot dumpier than I did when I first walked in that afternoon. The pants made me look like the Michelin man.

Ranger took one look at me, and didn't even try to hide his smile. "Sexy," he said.

"Shut up," I said. I pushed past him and pretended to read the recipe.

"I would recommend putting the potatoes in the oven first; they'll take longer to cook."

"Okay." I found the spuds, and frowned. "Why are there so many?"

"I thought we'd have a few extra people for an early dinner," he said.

"What?" I looked at him in horror. "Who?"

"Tank, Lester, Hal, and Ella."

"What? No! I can't cook for them!"

"Why not?"

"Because… What if it..."

"It'll work out. Trust me."

I was unconvinced. "But Ella?" This woman was a cooking goddess. I couldn't feed her. She'd probably take one bite and spit it out – or laugh.

Ranger reached over, and planted a quick kiss on my lips. "They're looking forward to it."

Liar. If they had any sense at all, they'd be running for the hills about now. "It would have been nice to have a little advanced warning."

He kissed me again. "Better cook a few extra potatoes," he said. "Tank'll need about four."

The spuds were already washed. All I had to do was fork them. Ranger seemed impressed that I knew this much about cooking potatoes. I shoved them in the oven, and then consulted the book to take care of the chicken. All I had to do was sprinkle the chicken with some spices, and put it in the oven for about an hour. Easy.

"Where's the chicken?"

Ranger pulled a few packages of chicken breasts out of the fridge. I stared at the blobs of pink flesh and cringed. "Got any tongs?"

"Babe."

"I'm sorry, but after Cluck in the Bucket, I don't do raw chicken."

He said nothing, but rooted around in a drawer and pulled a pair of tongs out for me. I opened up the package, and gingerly two-handed the chicken boobs into the casserole dish. Then, I measured out the spices, sprinkled them on top, and popped the dish into the oven.

"Now what?"

"Now we cut up carrots and make the salad," he said. He passed me a large bag of carrots.

"How many carrots should I do?"

"Usually, I'd do two or three per person, but since Tank is coming, you better do most of that bag." He handed me a peeler.

I was going to be peeling carrots until the sun went down. I sighed, and got to work. At least his peeler was sharp. At home, I had been using the same peeler since I moved out of mom's house. Well, I wouldn't say that I used it often. But even so, it was getting kind of dull.

"Peel away from yourself, not toward yourself," he said.

"Why?" And the peeler slipped, and took off most of the skin on my knuckle. "Shit!"

"That's why." He found a cloth, and wrapped my thumb up. "I'll be back." He disappeared into his bedroom, and brought a first aid kit back with him. He cleaned my thumb, and wrapped it in a band-aid. Then he kissed me until the pain in my thumb disappeared, and sent me back to the peeler and the rest of the carrots.

I managed to peel the rest of the carrots without further injury. Then Ranger gave me a cutting board and a knife, and told me to make carrot coins. "Watch your fingers," he said.

"Thanks a lot."

Ranger's knives were all nice and sharp, and cut the carrots like they were nothing. It almost made the task enjoyable. I really needed to invest in a new set of knives – the old ones had trouble with toast. I bet I'd cook a whole lot better if I had a set of sharp knives. I put the carrot coins in a pot, and set it aside.

"Time to check the chicken," Ranger said.

"Okay." I peeked through the window. "Yep – all still there."

"Funny." He handed me a pair of oven mitts. "Take it out and cut into one breast to see how it looks."

I slid on the mitts, and opened the oven door. A blast of heat poured over me, and I flinched. Then the smell hit me. "It smells… good." I was pleasantly surprised. I pulled out the dish, took off the mitts, and cut through the one of the pieces. "It's still pink inside."

Ranger leaned over my shoulder. "Pink in chicken is bad," he said.

His front was pressed up against me. It felt really nice, and was turning the cooking brain cells off and the have-sex-on-the-counter brain cells on. "Pink bad," I repeated.

"It probably needs another twenty minutes. You can pop it back in."

"Okay."

I went to grab the casserole dish, but Ranger stopped me, snatching both my wrists and yanking my hands away. "Don't forget the mitts, babe," he said. "You could have burnt yourself."

"Well, I can't help it! You're distracting me with your hands and your chest and your lips."

He crossed my arms in front of me, wrapping his arms around me in the process. I was trapped up against said chest, and liking it a whole lot. So was he, apparently – the sweat pants weren't much of a barrier.

He nuzzled my hair. "It's important to be able to work with distractions," he said.

"If that's true," I said, "then why did I need to put pants on?"

He gave that some thought. "You're right." He sounded amused. His arms tightened briefly around me, and he let me go. Then he passed me the mitts.

I took the mitts, and put the chicken back in the oven. "So what's next?"

Ranger was all business again. "Salad." He produced five salad plates and one mixing bowl.

I stared at the bowl. "Just how much does Tank eat?"

Ranger just smiled. "I'll wash, and you can cut."

The salads didn't take long with the two of us working on them together. Then it was time to make the pudding. Ranger passed me three boxes of instant pudding and a carton of skim milk. I picked up one of the boxes. "This is your special pudding recipe? Because I have to tell you, it's not that impressive."

He smiled, and slid over a bowl and a hand held mixer. "The instructions are on the box."

I grumbled a little, but measured out the milk, poured it in the bowl, and added the pudding mix to the milk. Then I plugged in the mixer.

"Put it in the bowl before you turn it on," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to spend the afternoon wiping pudding off the walls."

"Gotcha." I dipped the beaters into the mix, and started it up. The mixer jumped in my hand, and made the bowl spin. "Whoa!"

Ranger grabbed the bowl. "You'll want to hold onto that," he said.

Duh. I gripped the bowl with one hand, and worked hard to keep the mixer in check. Once I had a feel for it, I started to circle it around the bowl.

"You don't have to stir it, babe," he said. "That's why it's called a mixer."

"How long do I have to do this?"

"Two minutes."

"Two minutes!"

He laughed. "Don't be a wimp, babe."

I bristled. "A wimp?"

He stepped in behind me, and wrapped his arms around my waist. Then he started to kiss my neck.

"You're distracting me again," I said.

"Mmm," he said. "I like your hair."

The Burg girl in me was instantly pleased. "I just got it done."

"I could tell." His hand snuck in under the t-shirt, and encountered dress. "I should have made you take that off."

It was a struggle to keep holding onto the mixer, and not because of its erratic movements. "Too late now."

"It's never too late." And he reached up, and palmed a breast.

I groaned. "I'm about two seconds away from spraying pudding on the walls, if you keep that up."

"I won't tell you what I'm about two seconds away from doing," he said.

I shuddered. "Maybe you'd better."

He chuckled in my ear. "It involves you bent over the counter, and a lot less clothing." Then he reached over, turned off the mixer, and let me go. "Two minutes are up. You can pour it into the bowls over there." He pointed to five dessert dishes. "Leave whatever's left over in the bowl for Tank."

I stood there for about five seconds, panting, pudding dripping off the beaters and onto the counter. Then I got myself under control, and poured out the pudding.

After that things got busy, but not between us. I turned on the carrots, and set Ranger's table for six. I set out the salads, and made sugar-free iced tea for the guests – Ranger said no one was allowed to have alcohol since they were all technically still on duty, but I'm sure my dietary restrictions might have also played a factor in that decision. Ranger and I got glasses of milk.

Another quick check of the chicken showed that it was cooked; so were the carrots and potatoes. Ranger called down to the control room while I set up the five plates and one turkey platter with the food.

"You can go get undressed if you want," Ranger said.

"Huh?" For a moment I thought the counter fantasy was about to come true. Then it came to me – the sundress. I ran to the bedroom, stripped off the t-shirt and sweatpants, smoothed out the dress, and put on the shoes. I came out just as everyone arrived.

"It smells wonderful!" Ella said. She gave me a little hug of congratulations.

"Looking good, Steph," Lester said. "Like your boobs – I mean dress."

Ranger said, "Hit him." And Tank, who was standing behind Lester, smacked him across the top of the head.

"Thanks for being my test audience," I said.

"It's our pleasure, dear," Ella said.

"I drew the short straw," Hal said. Tank hit him on the head too.

"I can't wait to see what you've made," Lester said. "I just wish Ranger had let us tape it." He peered into the kitchen, and seemed disappointed to see that there was no smoke.

They sat down, and Ranger and I brought out the plates. Everyone looked at the food with some surprise.

"You made this?" Lester asked. "But it's not burnt. I was promised hazard pay if it was burnt." _Thwack_. "Ow."

"Steph made everything," Ranger said. "I just helped wash a few vegetables, and repair a few scraped knuckles." He smiled at me.

Hal went pale. "There isn't… blood in here, is there?"

Ranger gave him a look. "Why did I hire you again?" Hal turned paler.

"No worries," I said, holding up the damaged digit. "It was all contained."

"Good," he said, obviously relieved. Then he glanced nervously at Ranger. "I mean, it smells good."

"It does," Tank said. He was looking at his turkey platter with interest. Then he picked up his knife, and started to split open his potatoes. "Can someone pass the sour cream?"

It was a clear signal to start eating, and everyone dug in. To my surprise and delight, they ate everything. All except Ranger; he took one bite of pudding, and left the rest in the bowl. I wasn't really surprised; I mean, the man never ate dessert. And the fact that he rubbed his bare foot up and down my leg all during the meal made up for it.

"That was delicious, dear!" Ella said when the meal was over.

"Sure was," Tank said. "We'll wash up." He stood, gave Lester and Hal a meaningful look, and carried half the plates into the kitchen. Lester and Hal didn't waste any time clearing the rest away, and loading up the dishwasher. Then Tank herded everyone out. Ranger led me over to the couch, and pulled me down beside him.

"So," I said. "Hazard pay?"

"He was joking."

I narrowed my eyes. "Sure he was."

Ranger shrugged. "I knew I wouldn't have to pay out." He pulled me in close, wrapping arm dangerously high around my waist. "You did good, babe."

"Thanks to you."

"I didn't do much," he said. "I just gave you a few hints."

"Where did you learn all this stuff, anyway?"

"Home economics."

I laughed. "You did not take home economics."

"Did so. The teacher was hot. She taught me some really interesting ways to serve pudding." He reached behind him, and grabbed a bowl off the sofa table. It was his pudding from dinner.

There was something about his eyes and the way he held the pudding that sent instant heat straight to my doo-dah. "She did, did she?"

He nodded. "Want me to show you?"

I hesitated. I thought about Morelli… and I pushed his image aside. I nodded to Ranger. "Sure," I said.

Ranger's eyes darkened and his face grew serious. "What about Morelli?"

Damn. I sighed. "He's bringing dinner over tomorrow night."

"So it's not over between you?"

I shrugged, bothered by the intensity of his tone. "Not yet," I said.

He stared at me for the longest time, his expression intense. Then, when I was about to freak out, he dipped his finger into the pudding bowl, and offered it to me. "Try it," he said.

I leaned forward, and licked his finger clean, then gave it one or two sucks for good measure. When I looked up at him again, his eyes were dark, and he seemed close to squirming. He scooped up more pudding, and offered it to me again. This time I took his entire finger into my mouth, and made him groan.

"I think," he said between licks, "that you should make Morelli dinner tomorrow night."

I looked up at him, surprised. "Why? Do you want me to scare him away? I can make chili cheese dogs."

"Make what you made here tonight," he said.

I was confused. "But… he'll like it."

"Exactly." And he smiled, and offered me another finger to lick.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** – A lot of people were confused by the end of the last chapter. Why would Ranger want Steph to cook for Morelli? Well, I'm not going to tell you – you can find out when Steph does. In the meantime, I shall sit here, rub my hands together, and chortle like a mad scientist on the cusp of world domination. Bwu-ha-ha!

This chapter kind of wrote itself. I had no plans for this particular scenario, but once it got going, I couldn't stop. So here it is. I hope you like it.

Again, thank you for all your kind reviews and thoughts. They keep me writing!

All the best, J.

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Donut Run**

"What do you mean, he wants you to make Morelli dinner?"

I was in the bonds office, watching Lula and Connie eat donuts. I sat on my hands so I wouldn't be tempted to leap at the pastry box on Connie's desk. The box was full of donuts, éclairs, and danishes, and was promising me instant gratification if I wanted it. I was trying hard to ignore its call. "That's what he told me to do."

A blob of jelly fell out of Lula's donut, and landed on her shirt. She didn't even notice. "So let me get this straight," she said. "Batman invites you over for a cooking lesson."

Connie's eyes glazed over. "I wouldn't mind having a cooking lesson with Ranger," she said, her tone wistful.

"Hunh," Lula said. "Get in line."

"It wasn't that kind of cooking lesson," I said.

"Yeah, but I bet you wish it was. I bet that man can really cook."

We fell silent for a moment as we contemplated this. Of course, I already knew that Ranger was by far the best cook I'd ever had, but I wasn't about to tell them that.

Lula snapped out of it first. "So he teaches you how to cook a chicken dinner. And the meal turns out real well. Tank said it was good, and that Ranger was pleased."

I thought about the pudding, and tried not to blush. "Yep."

"And now he wants you to cook the same meal for Supercop?"

I sighed. "That's what he told me."

Lula looked at Connie, and then she looked at me. "I don't get it."

Neither did I. I had meant to ask him why, but then I got all distracted by the pudding. Because after I licked the pudding off his fingers, he had licked some pudding off of my fingers. And then the pudding had somehow made it to my lips, and his lips… Then somehow, when we were kissing, the straps of my sundress had slipped down, and Ranger thought it only appropriate that he lick pudding off my breasts. And that had turned into all kinds of nuzzling and kissing of body parts that really should have stayed in my bra, but didn't. And I know for a fact that if Ella hadn't come up at that exact moment to collect her dishes and unused ingredients, Ranger would have gotten a much better look at the thong I flashed him when I bent over in front of the stove.

Ella's arrival had knocked some sense into me. I rammed myself back into my dress, and practically ran out of his apartment. I'm pretty sure Ranger laughed at me as I left. I was in such a state that when I got home, I ran to the shower, because not only was I sticky, but I was horny. Then I went to bed and used the lady workhorse without the sock. It was either that, or I would have robbed a Dunkin' Donuts.

Needless to say, I hadn't given Ranger's request a whole lot of thought last night. But I was now, and I wasn't liking the conclusions I was coming to. I had the feeling that this was another one of those 'I don't do relationships, but I'm willing to lick pudding off a woman's nipples' things. I think Ranger was trying to push me back to Morelli again, only this time he was being more subtle.

But why would he put all those moves on me if he had no intention on following through? He made the request before he took my bra off, where as last time he'd done the deed, and then dumped me. So maybe, just maybe, he had something else in mind? I had no idea. I couldn't figure him out, and it was driving me nuts.

I wasn't the only one. Lula was so flummoxed she had completely forgotten about the donut in her hand. "Why would he want you to cook for Morelli? He knows that Morelli finds that homey shit attractive."

Connie looked thoughtful. "Maybe Ranger hopes that the meal won't work out, and you'll screw it up like you always do."

I frowned. "Hey."

"Yeah," Lula said. She waved her donut around as she thought. "Maybe he's hoping that you'll cook lots of rotten meals for Morelli, and that Morelli will dump your ass. Then he can move in and take Supercop's place."

"That doesn't make sense," I said. "If he wanted me to screw up the cooking, then he wouldn't give me cooking lessons."

"Maybe he's secretly giving you bad advice," Lula said. "I bet that's it. He's turning you into an even worse cook than before, and you don't even know it."

Connie looked dubious. "I don't know," she said. "I don't think she could get much worse."

"Hey! I'm standing right here!"

She ignored me. "Maybe he wants her to tell Morelli she's taking cooking lessons from him," Connie said. "That would make Morelli mad, don't you think?"

"That it would," Lula said, "though I just had another thought. It could be that Batman really doesn't like her that way. It could be he wants her to be with Morelli, and that all this kissing and cooking shit is just his way of being friendly."

"If that's the case, then why isn't he being friendly with us?" Connie demanded.

"It's because he knows we ain't the kind of weak-willed women who'll put up with all that smooching and fooling around in the alley whenever he wants it."

Connie gave Lula a blank stare. "Are you out of your mind? Of course we are!"

"You know about the alley?" I asked, horrified.

Connie and Lula looked at each other, and then started to cackle. "Girl, everyone knows about the alley."

That was bad news. Then a new thought hit me – one of those bad, unpleasant thoughts. "Do you think Morelli knows?"

That stopped their laughing. "He hasn't said anything?" Connie asked.

"No."

"Do you think he would if he did know?"

I knew for a fact he wouldn't say anything… at first. First he'd go hunt Ranger down with his gun, and then we'd talk about it. "I don't know," I lied. "I guess so."

"Then he probably doesn't know." Connie gave Lula a look that didn't inspire much confidence.

Lula gave me a jam-covered pat on the back. "I wouldn't worry about it," she said. "It probably just means that he feels secure enough in your relationship to know that all the lip locking and manhandling is just your way of saying howdy."

Now there was a load of horse manure if I ever heard one. Morelli didn't like it when Ranger and I shared the same air space. I doubt he'd like the idea of us sharing spit… or pudding.

"Of course, he could be locking lips with someone else too, and figures this makes the two of you even," Connie said.

The very suggestion of such a thing should have made me happy, since I was looking to dump Morelli, and this would have been the perfect excuse. Instead, it made me go into full jealous rhino mode. "What!" I sat bolt upright on the couch. "What have you heard?"

Connie shrank back in her seat. "Nothing! I swear! I'm just giving you a… a for instance."

I turned on Lula. She raised her hands to ward me off. "Don't look at me. I ain't heard nothing like that."

I fell against the back of the sofa with a loud "Urmph!" noise. They sounded sincere – besides me, they were probably the worst liars on the planet. Besides, they were both really bad at keeping secrets – if they had heard something, they would have said something by now, or let it slip accidentally.

It got me thinking, though - maybe Morelli was poaching too. Maybe he was keeping silent about Ranger because he didn't want me to find out about the slut he was kissing. Or maybe he knew about Ranger and me, and didn't care. That seemed unlikely. Or maybe he just didn't know. Somehow, this seemed the most plausible solution, but it also seemed the most unlikely.

It all led to the same conclusion – I would have to stop visiting the alley with Ranger. And all the late night visits to my bedroom and pudding sessions. In other words, I'd have to avoid Ranger, period. At least until everything was settled between Morelli and me. I had always deluded myself into thinking that these visits weren't really cheating. But seeing the situation reversed, and feeling the jealousy I was feeling now, I knew there was nothing innocent about them. I mean, if I caught Joe licking pudding off Terry Gilman's nipples, I just might have to get upset and call it cheating.

Just the thought of avoiding Ranger for even a few days made my heart sting with sadness. I didn't want to avoid him. I wanted to take him home and find new inventive places to put the pudding. I wanted to work with him and just hang out with him. I wanted to give him more reasons to smile and brighten up his tough days. I wanted him to teach me more in the kitchen, too. Cooking with him last night had been a bit nerve wracking, but also kind of fun. I wanted to be with him – but would he want to be with me in the same way?

"God," I muttered aloud. "I really want a donut."

Just then a black Porsche pulled up in front of the bond's office.

"Lookie here now," Lula said. "Here comes the chef himself. Whoo, that man is hot. Mmm hmm."

I jumped to my feet so quickly that I got a minor head rush. I had to leave before I saw him. Right now, he was a bigger temptation than the donuts.

"Gotta go!" I grabbed my new files from Connie's desk.

"Hey!" she shouted. "Wait a minute!"

Not likely. I scooted out the back door. My car was parked in the back – I didn't have Ranger's luck with parking and front doors. I hopped in, turned the key over, and got lucky on the third crank – the engine stuttered to life, then roared in a geriatric way. I backed out of the spot, and took off down the alley like I was being chased by the boogie man.

I was half a block away when my cell phone rang.

"Where are you going, babe?"

I looked in my review mirror and cursed – there was the black Porsche, trailing three or four cars behind me. I felt a rush of fear and lust. "Nowhere. Just have somewhere else to be."

"I don't think so. Now pull over." He sounded serious.

"Can't right now." And I hung up.

The phone rang again. No surprise who it was.

"You hung up on me." Now he sounded serious and annoyed.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to drive and talk on the phone?" And I hung up again. Then I stepped on the gas.

Ring. Ring ring ring! "Babe – you aren't seriously trying to outrun me in a Festiva, are you?"

I looked back, and saw that he had closed the distance to two car lengths. "No," I said. "That would be stupid." And I made a quick U-turn. It was trick that almost always worked on the Rangemen who followed me in their big bulky SUVs, but it had no effect whatsoever on Ranger driving a highly manoeuvrable Porsche.

"Are we having fun yet, babe?" I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Not yet." I turned, and took the route I used to lose people who were following me. It was a series of twists and turns through streets and alleys in the Burg with threw most people off, but not Ranger – I must have driven it with him in the car once, because he was practically turning before I did.

I cursed again, zipped my way through a gas station parking lot, and missed the drive out. I went over the sidewalk and off the curb, landing hard on the street. Something fell off my car and pinged its way across the pavement. My files, meanwhile, jumped off the passenger seat and fell on the floor, spilling paper everywhere.

"Better watch those bumps," Ranger said. "You just lost a hubcap."

"I'll get it later." And I hung up again. My usual tricks weren't working, and now I was losing car parts. I was going to need some help. I dialled Mary-Lou's number, and told her what I needed.

My phone rang again the instant I disconnected from Mary-Lou. "Who were you talking to, babe?"

"Just calling a psychic hotline to see how this ends."

There was a beat of silence, and then he laughed. "I don't need a psychic for that," he said. "I know how this is going to end."

"Yeah?" I drove out to the main drag, and started to circle closer to Mary-Lou's.

"I'm not going to let you do it."

Damn it – how did he know I was trying to avoid him? Besides the car chase, I hadn't given him any hints that I needed to some time to myself to sort out my feelings. "I have to, Ranger," I said.

"No, you don't." His voice was suddenly kind and soothing. "Now just stop the car, and we'll talk it over."

Talk it over – yeah right. Ranger was very persuasive with his lips, but not necessarily while he was talking. "I don't think so," I said. And I hung up again. I don't know how many times I'd hung up on Ranger by now, but I knew it was enough to warrant a severe tongue lashing from him later. Just the thought of a tongue lashing from Ranger made parts of me damp and my brain go fuzzy. Where was I? Oh yeah.

I made a sudden turn into the alley behind Mary-Lou's house, and rocketed down it, the Festiva's engine whining in protest. Ranger was close behind. I passed Mary-Lou's house doing fifty. A second later, Mary-Lou backed her minivan out and blocked the alley. In the mirror, I could see the Porsche's back end fishtail as the brakes locked up to avoid a collision.

Mary-Lou called me a few seconds later. "You didn't tell me it was Ranger after you," she shouted at me. "You said it was some nutso! He's going to kill me!"

"He won't kill you," I said. At least, I didn't think he would. "Just get out of his way, and it'll be fine."

I could hear angry engine revving noises in the background, then silence, and finally swearing. "I can't! I just flooded the engine! He probably thinks I did it on purpose… Oh, God, he's getting out of his car!" There were some quick scuffling noises, a scream, and the line went dead.

Holy crap! Ranger was attacking her! I quickly dialled his number. He answered on the first ring.

"Don't kill her!"

"She's not the one who should be worried," he said.

"I heard a scream."

"She saw me getting out of the car, and ran for it," he said. I heard a car door slam, and the sweet whine of a Porsche engine moving quickly in reverse. "Not bad, babe. Getting reinforcements in was a nice touch."

"I wouldn't need them if you'd just leave me alone."

"Not a chance. And babe?"

I didn't like his tone. "Yeah?"

"You're not the only one who has reinforcements."

Just as he said it, a RangeMan SUV, driven by Tank, pulled in behind me, blocking my way back. Another appeared ahead, and came to dramatic screeching halt, effectively blocking the narrow, car-lined road. The window rolled down, and Lester peeked his head out. He gave me a 'bring it on' wave of his hand.

"Oh, crap," I said. This was getting out of hand. All I wanted was time alone to get my head sorted out. Now I had armed mercenaries boxing me in a crowded street in the middle of the Burg. My mother was going to be ironing everything in sight.

"Give it up, babe," Ranger said.

"No way." I hung up the phone, examined my options, and gunned it. Tank put the SUV in gear and followed me.

Lester smiled at first when he saw me racing toward him; but when I didn't slow down, the smile faded. He started shaking his head back and forth, and waving his arms around in the international signal for 'stop'. At the last moment, I applied the e-brake, swerved the car to the left, and drove between two parked cars and onto the sidewalk. The side of my car scraped along side a tree, and I think I lost another hubcap. I fought for control of the steering wheel, and bounced my way back onto the road. Behind me, I heard screeching tires as Tank just narrowly avoided hitting Lester.

There was no one in my rear-view mirror now, but that didn't mean they wouldn't find me; Ranger had me so low-jacked he probably knew how many times I blew my nose in a day. I reached for my purse, dumped the contents into my lap, and started looking for transmitters.

The phone rang again. "Nice driving, babe. Tank said you made Lester scream like a girl."

"He shouldn't park in the middle of the street," I replied. Where was that damn pen?

"Babe… this isn't worth running over. You're going to hurt someone, or yourself."

"Then stop following me!"

"I can't do that, babe."

I looked into the rear view mirror, and wasn't surprised to see he was on my tail again. Jeez – the guy just would not quit. "Ranger, I need some time alone. I need to think!"

"No, babe. You've been incredibly strong up until this point. You just need some help to make the right decision. Let me help you."

"No offence, Ranger, but you can't decide this for me."

"Well, I'm going to. You're not going to do this."

It was a direct order he just gave me. It made me go into full rhino mode. It also made me shiver in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. "I'm not?"

"No… because you don't want to. You want me to stop you from making a huge mistake. And believe me, babe, you'll be glad that you did. Now toss the donuts out the window, and pull over."

I was so surprised by what he said that I nearly had him repeat it. "Donuts?" What the hell was he talking about?

Ranger made an aggravated noise over the phone, and disconnected. Then he put the Porsche in gear and zipped out in front of me. He applied the e-brake and turned the vehicle so he was blocking the road. I stomped on the brakes. The Festiva's engine stalled, and I came to a stop just a breath away from Ranger's passenger door.

Ranger was already outside of the car. He looked damn scary as he stormed toward me and wrenched my door open. He reached over me, and I screamed – but he only undid my seatbelt, and pulled me out of the car.

"What do you need?" he growled. "What'll take to make you stop?"

He shook me, and my teeth rattled. "I don't know what you - "

"Is this what you need?" And he kissed me, long and hard, his hands holding my body so I was crushed right up against him.

"Mmph!" I said. I tried to pull away from him, but he refused to give me any leeway. I was suffocating… and I was horny as hell. I wanted to move him over to the hood of the car so he could lay me on it and we could get down to business.

Finally his lips left mine, but his hold on me did not loosen a bit. "Why did you do it, babe?" he asked.

I was drunk on Ranger's kiss. "Do what?" I slurred.

"Steal the donuts from the bonds office."

I blinked at him a few times. Then I frowned. "I did not!"

"Connie and Lula said you took the box on your way out."

"I took my files! I didn't take the donuts!"

We both turned, and looked into my car. And there, sitting on the floor, peeking out from under some pieces of paper, was the Tasty Pastry box. Donuts, éclairs, and danishes littered the floor and stained the files. The air was filled with the scent of sugar and fat.

"I honestly don't remember picking that box up! I swear!"

Ranger was smiling. "Babe."

"No! I'm not lying! I was in a hurry to get out of the office and must have grabbed them by mistake." Then I looked at him. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me you chased me halfway through Trenton because you thought I was going to eat a donut?"

"I didn't think you were going to eat _a_ donut, babe. I thought you were going to eat a dozen of them."

"Oh." I felt a strange mixture of emotions – surprise, amusement… and disappointment.

"So if this wasn't about binging on donuts," he said, "why were you running from me?"

"I thought…" I immediately clammed up. I thought he was chasing after me because he knew I was trying to avoid him, and that he might be adverse to that particular plan. To learn that this was all about a donut kind of made me feel… stupid.

He looked at me carefully. "You thought what, babe?"

I stared up at him. I couldn't ask him if he loved me, because I know he did. I couldn't tell him I loved him, because then he'd run away. I couldn't tell him to take me home for some freaky-deaky, because Joe was still in the picture. And now, standing in front of him, I couldn't tell him I needed some space, because I didn't want it.

"Why do you want me to cook dinner for Morelli?"

It was the first thing to pop into my mind, and it surprised me as well as Ranger. "Is this what this was all about?"

"No – but it's a valid question."

He gave me the same enigmatic smile as he did last night. "I have my reasons."

"I assumed that. What are they?"

The smile grew. "I'm not going to tell you."

I huffed, and tried to break away from him again. "This is exactly why you drive me nuts! You never tell me anything!"

He tightened his grip on me, and kissed me again. When he finished, he pulled back a bit, and took my face in his hands.

"There are lot of things I can't tell you because I can't," he said. "Other things I can't tell you because you aren't ready to hear them. And some things I won't tell you because you need to figure them out yourself. This is one of those things."

I frowned at him. "That's a sucky answer. You suck."

He actually laughed at me. "Just cook for him," he said, "and come see me when you want me to teach you something else." And he kissed me again, and left.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** - Thanks again for all your reviews and support! Your thoughts mean ever so much to me!

Just so you know, I'm going to ramp up the rating on this story - I think there's a bit too much sexual innuendo going on for a T rating. Plus, I just wrote a scene yesterday that I'll be including in the last chapter, and it definitely deserves the M. I didn't think I'd be getting into that kinda stuff with this story, but hey - cooking and Ranger? Who was I kidding?

Just a minor warning for this chapter - Babes may not like part of it. But this story is a Babe HEA, so don't freak out.

All the best, J.

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Orgasm by Cookie**

Joe arrived right on time, carrying a bag of takeout from the Chinese restaurant around the corner, and a case of lite beer. He walked into the kitchen, and stopped. And stared.

"Where's Bob?" I asked.

"At home," he said. "I have to work at ten."

I resisted doing a celebratory dance. There'd be no sleepover tonight, which was good, because these days, fooling around with Morelli felt an awful like I was cheating on Ranger. Of course, when I was with Ranger, I felt the same guilt about Morelli. You'd think being chased after by two men was fun, but it really wasn't.

Morelli, meanwhile, was oblivious to my internal celebration and guilt-fest. He was staring at the oven. "You're cooking," he said.

I set the casserole dish of chicken on the counter next to the baked potatoes I'd just pulled out of the oven. "Yeah," I said. "I thought I might surprise you."

Morelli stared at me, then looked at the food. He walked toward it, bent over, and looked at the chicken with a detective's eye. He sniffed the air experimentally. Then he stood up, and frowned at me.

"You made this."

I took off the oven mitts, and put them aside. "I did."

His eyes narrowed. He opened up the cupboard under the sink and peered into the garbage can. Seeing no false starts, he closed the door. He sniffed the air again, and looked confused when he didn't see or smell anything burnt.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He looked at the chicken again. "Ella didn't make this?"

"No!"

He put a hand on the oven, and pulled it back when he found it hot.

"Yes, I really did use it," I said. "No one cooked it for me and ran it over when it was done."

I think it was finally sinking in. "Wow. You really did cook this."

I sighed. "Do you want to eat it or not?"

He nodded. "I do. I really didn't want to eat this takeout one more time." He threw the bag he carried into the garbage, and after taking one for himself, put the beer in the fridge. Then he watched as I dished out the food onto the plates, and followed me as I carried everything to the table.

"We aren't going to watch the game while we eat?" He looked at the television hopefully.

"No," I said. "I want to eat at the table."

He shrugged. "Okay." He cut up his chicken, and took a bite. Once again, surprise flooded his features. "This is really good."

"Thank you."

He took another bite. "You really made this?"

I sighed, and tossed my fork onto the plate. "Go watch the game."

He smiled at me, and reached over to take my hand. "I'm sorry, Cupcake. I'm just impressed. And surprised. Your last few attempts haven't been this good."

I just loved it when a man could roll insults and compliments into one. "I'm glad you like it," I growled.

Morelli didn't notice. He was too busy eating. He wolfed down all his food except the salad, which he didn't touch. Then he had the seconds I had planned to eat for lunch tomorrow. Then it was time for dessert. "Hey… pudding. I haven't had pudding in years." He dug in, and looked at me. "Aren't you going to have any?"

"No – too much sugar." It was a lie. I had made the less-sugar variety, but I found that I just couldn't eat it, not without conjuring up images of Ranger. I didn't think it would be a good idea to eat and moan a man's name when that particular man wasn't the one sitting next to you.

Morelli helped me bring the dishes back into the kitchen, and watched as I loaded up the dishwasher. When I finished up, he put his arms around my waist, and kissed me.

"So… who did you take lessons from?"

I stiffened. "Huh?"

He smiled. "Come on, cupcake. You didn't learn all that on your own, did you?"

Drat. I'd been hoping that he just assumed I was improving with time. "I got some help, yeah."

He assumed the smug look, the one he wore whenever he thought he was right about something. Probably he thought I was following his advice when he suggested I take the cooking lessons. "Did your mom help you?"

"No."

I felt him grow rigid. "Not Ella."

"No, not Ella." But I knew Ella would be a better choice as a teacher than her boss.

"Then who?"

I blurted out the first name that came to me. "Grandma Mazur."

"Really?" Morelli contemplated this, and apparently came to the conclusion that this was acceptable, because he nodded. "That was nice of her."

"Yeah." My stomach had one of those sinking feelings, kind of like it did when I told that fib about the cello. "Just don't mention it to anyone, because we're trying to keep it secret from mom."

I must have been getting better at lying, because he bought it. "So what are you going to make next?"

What? He wanted me to cook again? "I've only had one lesson so far."

"When's your next one?"

"I don't know… tomorrow?"

"Then I'll come over the night after next. How does that sound?"

I wasn't sure whether to be excited or annoyed. Morelli liked my cooking. And he wanted me to cook for him again. I couldn't help but be pleased that I actually made a meal that he liked, and that he was confident I could make him another. But a part of me wanted to tell him to shove it, that he could cook his own blinking meals. I mean, who was I? His mom?

_Get over it, _I thought to myself. _You get another cooking lesson with Ranger. Isn't that good enough?_

"Hell, yeah."

Morelli gave me a funny look. "Pardon?"

I smiled at him. "I mean, sure. That would be great."

"And in the meantime…" Morelli started to nuzzle my neck in a knowing way. "…we should celebrate your success."

I glanced at the clock – it was only seven. Still plenty of time to get in a round or two, if Morelli was on his game. And he looked to be in prime condition. He was calmer than the last time I saw him, definitely well rested and headache free. He was like the Morelli I knew pre-diet, all testosterone and sex drive. Damn it all. I needed a way to distract him for three hours. But how?

"Why don't we watch the game?" I said.

Morelli pulled back. "Really?"

"Sure."

He looked at me, momentarily suspicious. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"Don't you want to fool around?"

"Sure I do." Liar, liar, pants on fire.

He moved in suddenly, and his hand found its way up underneath my shirt. "Then let's skip the game," he said.

His voice made my nipples go hard. What can I say? It was Morelli – whenever he spoke like that, it just happened. Now he was kissing my temple, and his fingers were doing some kind of Morse code on my spine that was sending messages straight to my doodah. I moaned.

"Come on, cupcake – it's been weeks," he said.

It had actually only been six days, but I wasn't about to argue with him. "Okay," I said. And I meant it. To hell with Ranger – he's the one who wanted me to cook for Morelli. He was bound to know that it would make Morelli all horny. So if I slept with him, it wasn't my fault; it was Ranger's. Or at least, that was the story I was sticking to.

Morelli got me into my bedroom in a hurry, and had my shirt off and pants down in a flash. He tossed me onto the bed, and froze as a beeping sound filled the air. He swore, and pulled his pager off his belt. He swore again when he saw the readout.

"Sorry, Cupcake."

I sat up, suddenly angry. "Sorry? What do you mean, sorry?"

He was already doing up his fly. "I have to go. We're getting started sooner than we planned."

"But… but…"

He gave me a quick kiss. "I'll call you." And he was gone.

I sat there, momentarily stunned. I wanted to cry. No, I wanted to have sex. How could he do this to me? I was primed, and he darts out the door like he smelled something funny. I checked my armpits, just to be sure it wasn't me. No, I was good. My legs were shaved and everything.

_I should call Ranger._ The instant I thought it, I knew it wasn't a good idea. If he came over here now, I'd jump him. There was no doubt in my mind. He wouldn't even make it through the door. I'd have his shirt torn off and his cargos around his ankles before he put away his little lock picking tool, or whatever it was he used to break into my apartment. And the best part? I wouldn't have to worry about underwear, because _Ranger didn't wear underwear_. If I answered the door naked, we could get to the main event in less than three seconds.

The mental image this conjured was overpowering; I was actually salivating. It was such a powerful image that my brain fizzled up and died. My body immediately took over. It marched me through the living room and over to the phone, and my finger dialled Ranger's number.

He answered on the first ring. "Yo."

"Want to come over?"

There was a pause. "This doesn't have anything to do with Morelli leaving just now, does it?"

I gasped. "How did you - ?" Then it dawned on me – the cameras. "Are you watching me right now?"

"I have to," Ranger said. "You think I'm going to let any of my men monitor you when you're walking around in that outfit?"

I looked down, and realized I was just wearing a bra and thong. I yelped, and dove behind the coffee table.

"Not the best hiding spot, babe," he said. "I can still see your ass."

"Are you sure you're the only one watching this?"

"Yes."

"And it's not being taped?"

"Not this time, though I'm tempted."

I peeked out from behind the coffee table. "So do you want to come over or what?"

"No."

I stared at the camera. "Why not?" It was practically a whine. "This is your big chance." I stood up. "I mean, look at me! I'm half naked, for crying out loud!"

"Believe me, babe, I'm looking."

"Then what's the problem? Don't you want me?"

"More than anything. But you're just looking for a Morelli substitute. I'm nobody's substitute."

I wilted; he was right. We both knew that if Morelli hadn't run out of here, I'd be doing the deed with him right now. I felt slutty and tacky. I grabbed a cushion from the couch, and hid behind it.

"I'm going to dump the both of you, and move to a different state."

"You don't have to do that, babe. One day you'll figure it out. Now go put some clothes on so Cal can get back to work." And he hung up.

I did as he told me, pulling on a pair of sweat pants and a sweat shirt. I even put on socks and a hat – I suddenly felt the need to cover as much skin as possible. I put Ghostbusters in the VCR, and sat down on the couch under a blanket, so that only my eyes were showing. I felt like a disgusting creature that peered out from under a rock.

A knock on my door startled me. I got up, still wrapped in the blanket, peeked through the peek hole, and nearly passed out. It was Ranger. He held a small brown bag in his hand. What the hell was he doing here?

"I know you're there, babe," he said. "I can hear you hyperventilating."

I unlocked the door and opened it. "Why did you knock? You never knock."

He ignored my question, and smiled at the blanket and the hat. "Feeling insecure?"

"No." I snugged the blanket in closer to me. "What do you want?"

He held up the brown bag. "Present," he said. "Can I come in?"

"I don't know," I said. "Do you think it's safe?"

He looked me over again and smiled. Probably he was thinking I didn't present much of a threat in a blanket and sweat pants. "I'll take my chances."

"Hunh." I looked at the bag. It didn't look all that promising, but I reluctantly shuffled over and let him in. Then I went back to the couch. He followed me, and sat on the coffee table. He held the bag out for me.

I found an opening in the blanket, and took the bag. "What is it?"

"A reward."

That got my curiosity up. I opened up the bag, and gasped. I slapped the bag shut quickly.

"There are chocolate chip cookies in here."

He nodded, amused. "I know."

"You chased me halfway across Trenton to stop me eating a dozen donuts, and now you're giving me cookies?"

He smiled. "When was the last time you had anything with sugar in it?"

I didn't have to think about that one. "The day before I got the results of my blood test."

"That's over three weeks ago, babe. Eat the cookies."

I squeezed the top of the bag shut. "I can't!"

Ranger sat down beside me. "They're Ella cookies, babe. They're low fat, and have a little more sugar in them than you should have on a regular basis, but they're still better than regular cookies. You can eat them."

I stared at him – and then I dove into the bag, and practically inhaled the first cookie. "Mmmmm!" Then I ate the other two, moaning with pleasure. These were low sugar cookies? You couldn't tell. They melted in my mouth, and slipped down my throat like they were full of fat. "I wuv Ewwa," I moaned, my mouth full of cookie.

"I know," Ranger said.

When I finished eating the cookies, I picked the crumbs off my shirt. I licked my fingers, one by one. Then I sighed, and sat back on the couch. I felt like I had just had a doomsday orgasm. I looked at Ranger, and gave him a happy, sated smile.

"Feeling better?" he asked. His eyes were dark – probably I could have toned down the moaning a little – but he was smiling.

"Can Ella teach me how to make those cookies?"

"I can teach you."

I sat up. "You can bake? You can bake _those_ cookies?"

He nodded, and stood up. "You free tomorrow evening?"

Oh boy – was I ever.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N** – Thank you for all the reviews and wonderful comments!

Well, I see that F-F-Net has gone through its annual crash and thud. Things seem to be working for me again (knock knock). I hope this means the site's getting back to normal - I've had horrible withdrawals, not being able to read your stories.

**Warning** – Some smut, if you squint; and foul language.

All the best, J.

--

**Chapter 11 – Window Dressing**

I was startled awake when the phone rang. It was Morelli.

"Sorry to call so late," he said. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes, but don't worry about it." _And please don't ask me where I am_, I thought.

Thankfully, he didn't. "I just found out I have a visit with the doctor's tomorrow at five, so I'm going to be late for dinner. Is that going to be a problem?"

I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "Nope. When are you going to be done?"

"I don't know; I'd say by six at the latest."

"Are you getting your test results back?" Last week, both Morelli and I went to see our respective doctors to get our blood tested again. I was seeing my doctor tomorrow too. The secretary who called would not give anything away, so I still had no idea if I'd ever be able to eat pineapple upside down cake again.

"Yep – it's judgment day."

"Yeah – same here."

To my annoyance, he didn't ask me anything about my tests – once again, I had the feeling he had no idea what I was talking about. "So do you want to cook at my place? Then you can let Bob out for me."

"Sure."

"Do you need anything? I might have time to pick things up on the way home tomorrow."

I shook my head in an attempt to wake up fully, trying to bring back tonight's cooking lesson. "Do you have a cookie sheet?"

"Let me check. " I could hear him rummage through his cupboard. "That's a flat, metal, rectangular thing, right?"

"That's right."

"Nope. Don't have one of those. I've got a pizza pan, though."

"Even better. Leave it out where I can find it, and a mixing bowl."

There were more rummaging sounds. "I've got a large metal bowl that chips usually go into. Will that do?"

"Yep."

"You need anything else?"

"A frying pan, wooden spoon, and a rolling pin."

"I can help you out on the first two, but not the third."

"Okay – I'll bring mine."

"You own a rolling pin?"

"I do."

"Since when?"

"Since forever. I use it to kill spiders."

He paused. "You will wash it first, right?"

I was too tired to figure out if he was kidding or not. "Sure," I yawned.

There was a pause. "So this thing you're going to make… it isn't vegetarian, is it?"

I sighed. I had made him a really good vegetarian stew a few nights ago, and he had refused to eat it because it had mushrooms, zucchini, and chickpeas in it. He said they were foods for a more 'sophisticated palate'. My response was that pigs were therefore more sophisticated than he was, since they had no problem eating mushrooms, zucchini, and chickpeas. Morelli left soon after that. As always, we had made up over the phone the next morning, but things had been kind of tense since.

"No, this isn't vegetarian."

"What are we having?"

"Not telling. It's a secret."

"How about I make dessert?"

I wasn't too sleepy to recognize the tone of his voice. "Let me guess – cannoli?"

"That's right," he said. He sounded pleased that I figured it out.

"I can't eat cannoli right now."

"You can eat this one."

Oh boy. I nervously glanced over at the other end of the couch. "Well, I got to go. I'll see you tomorrow." And I hung up.

Ranger looked at me, eyebrows raised. "Please tell me he isn't comparing a cannoli to his - "

"Absolutely not." I jumped up from the couch – his couch – and quickly scanned the room for my shoes. I spotted them under the coffee table, and bent over to get them.

Ranger's apartment was starting to feel like a second home. A week and a bit had passed from the day he came over and fed me semi-healthy cookies. Since then, I'd spent odd days at his place getting cooking lessons, and even days at my place cooking for Morelli. So far, both men had been reaping the rewards of this arrangement – Morelli got to eat good food (if I do say so myself), and Ranger got the enjoyment of looking at my ass whenever I bent over to peek in the oven.

The arrangement might have been good for them, but it wasn't so good for me. Morelli, being Morelli, wanted to celebrate after each meal. I'd managed to keep him at bay by suggesting my monthly friend was visiting, but that excuse was only going to carry me for so long. Ranger, on the other hand, wasn't pressuring me for sex, but he was certainly interested in foreplay. He was interested in foreplay before, during, and after the cooking lesson. The only time he showed restraint was when the Merry Men showed up to test my latest culinary creation, and even then, he got really inventive with his feet under the table.

The strain of fighting off two men (and fighting off the urge to boink both of them) was starting to get to me. Throw in stressful times at work, a mother harassing me with phone calls, a worrying medical appointment, and I was done in, as evidenced by tonight's activities. After this evening's cooking lesson, Ranger had invited me to watch the hockey game on his great big TV. I had cuddled up to him on the couch, and remembered very little after that.

"Where're you going, babe?"

"Home. It's late."

"Stay with me."

I glanced at Ranger. He reclined on the couch, watching me. His hair lay loose around his shoulders. He had one arm placed casually behind his head; his feet were propped up on the coffee table. His chest and arms were bare. He smiled at me, and I think I had a mini orgasm.

Ranger patted the spot next to him – the spot I had just vacated. "Come back to the couch." Said the spider to the fly.

It was a struggle to look away. "I think I better go." Before it was too late, and I gave him a reason to get out of those cargos.

"You're exhausted, babe. It's not safe for you to drive."

"Then drive me home."

"I have a better idea. You take the bed, and I'll take the couch."

I didn't for a million years believe he would actually stay on the couch. I also knew that a sleepover would be a really bad idea right now. Under normal circumstances, I was barely able to control myself around him. Circumstances hadn't been normal for weeks. If I woke up next to Ranger, all sexy and warm...

"I have an early morning tomorrow. It'll be easier if I just go home." I settled my shoes on my feet, stood up, and blinked as my head started to spin.

I heard Ranger sigh. "Let me get my keys."

The Turbo's bucket seat cradled me as soon as I sat in it. Ranger got in next to me, and reached over to do up my seat belt. I gave him a lazy smile, and closed my eyes.

"You worried about tomorrow, babe?"

My eyes opened. I hadn't mentioned to him yet that I was getting my test results back, and yet he knew anyway; how did he do that? I wasn't really surprised, though. He seemed to know everything. I nodded – no point in hiding it. "What if my triglycerides are worse than before?"

"That's unlikely. You've made a lot of changes to your diet. You'll see an improvement."

"But will I ever get to eat sugar again?" This, of course, was my greatest fear. Not that my risk of heart attack was lower; it was whether I could eat my mother's pineapple upside down cake again, or if I'd be banned from it for life.

"You'll eat sugar again," he said. "But be prepared, babe; you'll never be able to eat the same amount of sugar that you did in the past. You know that, don't you?"

I sighed, and looked out the passenger window. "I guess so." Secretly I was hoping for a miracle cure. I guess I was hoping for too much.

"Do you want someone to go with you?"

It was the same offer he had made me before, when I was getting the results from my first blood tests. I thought it was sweet then, just as I did now, but I was hardly going to tell that to Ranger. Ranger didn't do sweet. "No," I said. "I'll be okay – but thanks."

We pulled into my lot; once again, Ranger's good parking karma got him a spot right next to the door. He made me wait outside my apartment door while he did his walk through. He came back out and found me sleeping against the wall.

"Come on, babe." He scooped me up, and carried me inside.

I half woke up when we got to the bedroom. "I'll take it from here," I said.

"You sure you can manage?" His fingers were already on the buttons of my shirt.

"I'm okay." But I didn't move his hands away. I quite liked them where they were.

I think he smiled, but my eyes closed then, so I wasn't sure. I was aware of only bits and pieces after that – Ranger taking off my shirt, and my bra, then laying me on the bed so he could take off my pants. I snapped into semi-awareness when he slipped something soft and warm over me. Then he settled me on the mattress, and I was out before my head made a decent dent in the pillow.

--

I woke up to someone placing kisses along my nape and shoulders. A strong arm held me in place against a very firm – and very naked – male body. I glanced at the arm, and was relieved to see that it was mocha-latte coloured, and not hairy Italian coloured.

"Ranger?"

"Morning, babe."

"What are you doing here?"

"You told me I'd be more comfortable here – so I stayed."

"Liar – I was asleep. And why am I naked? I remember you putting something on me. And where are _your_ clothes?"

"You were wearing my shirt. I needed it back."

He turned me over so we were face to face, and he kissed me. It was a friendly kiss that soon turned daring when his tongue touched mine. It was the kind of kiss that made my brain turn off, so I would do really stupid things.

"You're so warm," I said, snuggling in closer to him. And I kissed his chin, and moved down to his throat and neck.

"I have a meeting in half an hour," he said. But he made no move to stop me.

"I think Tank should cover for you," I said, moving lower and lower. God, this man's chest was amazing! And those abs – don't even get me started on their perfection. I slid down further, and started tracing the valleys and ridges of his torso with my tongue.

Ranger made a pleased sound, kind of like a hum. "That's a good idea, except my meeting is with Tank."

"You're the boss – he can wait."

"True." He pulled me up to face level, flipped me on my back, and looked at me in a meaningful way.

Holy cow! This was it – the moment both of us had been dancing around for weeks and months; years, really. We were going to do it – there was no doubt in my mind. Apparently there was no doubt in his mind either, for he smiled, and started giving me the same attention I just gave him, kissing and working his way down past my belly button, and lower… and lower!

Ranger's tongue was like magic, and his hair sliding back and forth between my thighs made me shiver with delight. It was all smooth and silky and soft, a nice contrast to the heat and hardness of his body, to the stubble that grazed his jaw and prickled my skin.

I was about ready to stand up and sing Ode to Joy when the phone rang. Ranger immediately grew still.

"No!" I shouted. "Don't you dare answer it!"

Ranger paused, listening under the blankets. "It's not mine – it's the land line."

"Good! Ignore it! Now get back to work!" And Ranger did as he was told.

The phone rang and rang. _It'll stop soon, _I thought, trying to focus on the matter at hand. _The answering machine will get it – or the other person will get the hint and give up._ But I must have turned the answering machine off, because the phone would not stop ringing. Finally, after about the twentieth ring, it fell silent. I sighed in relief, only to scream again when my cell phone started up.

Ranger stopped working. "I think you'd better get that, babe," he said.

"Don't want to! Please! It's been weeks! Go go go! No! What the fuck are you doing?! Don't stop now! Nooooo!"

Ranger's head popped out from under the blankets. As I continued to swear, he reached over the edge of the bed, found my pants, and plucked my cell phone out of the pocket. He looked at the screen, and his face went dark. He handed it to me.

"It's Morelli," he said.

I stopped in mid-swear, and stared at the phone in horror. Oh shit – I'd forgotten about him, the guy who was supposed to be my boyfriend. I shrank back from the phone, but Ranger pressed it into my hand. "Answer it," he said.

I took the phone – I had no choice. I clicked it on. "Hello?"

"Why is Ranger's car in the parking lot?" Morelli did not sound pleased.

I dove for the window, just in time to see Morelli walking through the lot to the front door. I looked at Ranger, panic written on my face. "Fuck!" I mouthed at him.

Ranger was amused. "Are we going to have company?"

I slapped a hand over his mouth, and started looking for clothes, any clothes. "I… um…" I said into the phone.

"I'm coming up." And he disconnected.

"Oh, shit! He's coming! He's coming!" I pulled on jeans, and yanked on a t-shirt. I turned around, and found Ranger still in my bed, watching me with a big smile on his face. "What are you doing? Get up! Get dressed! Get out!"

Ranger sighed, put back the blanket, and slowly got out of bed. "Does this mean we aren't going to have sex?"

"Out!"

He pulled on his pants, and put on his gun belt, in no particular hurry. "You're wearing my shirt," he said.

I looked down; now that wouldn't do. I pulled it off, threw it at Ranger, and shoved him out the window onto the fire escape, just as the front door banged open. I shut the window as quietly as I could, and sat down on the bed, trying for that just woke up look.

Two seconds later, Morelli stood in my bedroom doorway, his hand on his gun.

"Morning," I said.

Morelli didn't acknowledge me. Instead, he opened the closet door, and looked under the bed.

"Hello? What are you doing?" Though I knew exactly what he was doing. I watched as he peered behind the door, and looked out the window. I held my breath, but Ranger must have already left, because Morelli turned around again, looking a little calmer.

"Sorry, cupcake," he said, giving me a quick kiss. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"I'm just borrowing the car, Joe," I said, trying to sound angry. "My car broke down again. That's all."

"And he loaned you the Turbo?" He gave me a dubious look. "I wouldn't loan you a Turbo."

I was all frazzled from the near miss, but was still sentient enough to realize I was being insulted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Morelli was smiling at me. More specifically, he was smiling at my breasts, which were out in the open for anyone to see. "I like this look," he said.

I immediately covered myself up. "I was about to have a shower." I reached over to pick my shirt off the floor.

Morelli had other ideas. He grabbed me, spun me around, and pulled me in close to him. "Do you want some company?" he asked.

_I had company_, I nearly said, _until you showed up_. "Actually, I'm in a bit of a…"

My voice trailed off when I saw Ranger peek in the window. He was shirtless, and his hair looked like it had recently been under a blanket. He looked at Morelli holding me, saw that I was topless, and frowned.

"In a bit of a what?" Morelli said.

Thank God Morelli was facing away from the window, or it would have gone OK Corral in here. I snapped my mouth shut. "Huh? Oh! I'm, uh, in a hurry!" I focused on Joe again. "I need to get to work."

"So do I," he said. His hand left my waist and wandered north. "But I can be persuaded to be late."

Ranger's eyes narrowed when he saw where Joe's hand was going. I pulled Morelli in close to me, and shook my head at Ranger over Joe's shoulder. "That sounds like fun; but I don't have a lot of spare time today." To Ranger I mouthed, _What do you want?_

Ranger lifted a leg, and waggled his foot at me. It was bare. My eyes widened in horror. I scanned the floor hurriedly, and spotted his socks and shoes near the bed. How Morelli hadn't seen them was beyond me. Some detective.

The answer became obvious one second later; with my breasts visible, Morelli was thoroughly distracted. "Are you sure?" he asked. He cupped one, and kneaded it expertly.

Ranger immediately sprang up to his feet like a pissed off Jack-in-the-box. I waved at him to go away. To Morelli I said, "Yeah. Um, sorry."

"I suppose we can always celebrate tonight," Joe said. He smiled at me. "The boys have really missed you."

Ranger made a face, and mouthed, _The boys?_

I blushed, and frowned at Ranger. "Yeah?" I said to Joe.

"Yeah," said Morelli. The hand not on my breast slipped down and groped my left ass cheek. "They really, really miss you." And he ground his hips into me.

Ranger took one look at how Morelli was moving, drew his gun, and aimed it at Joe's butt.

"No!" I shouted.

Morelli drew back. "What was that?"

I gave him a large smile. "I'm sorry!" I said, my voice three octaves higher than normal. "I mean… don't stop!" And I grabbed his ass, and crashed my pelvis into his.

Joe raised his eyebrows. "Are you alright?"

Ranger, meanwhile, gave me a disgusted look. Then he turned around, took aim, and fired at something below in the lot. There was the sound of breaking glass, followed by the unmistakable wail of a car alarm.

Joe immediately pushed me to the floor. "Stay down!" he said. He drew his gun, and duck-walked over to the window, which thankfully no longer held the view of a half-naked Ranger. He peered out of it, swore, and stood up. "Someone just shot out my back window!"

"No way!" I, meanwhile, shoved myself into my shirt, and used a blanket to cover up Ranger's shoes.

"I'll be right back." Morelli ran out of the room.

Two seconds later, I heard the tapping of a gun on my bedroom window. Ranger stood there, smoking weapon in hand, a satisfied expression on his face. He still wasn't wearing his shirt.

I opened the window. "Happy now?" I asked.

"Happy that his hands are off you." He climbed in. "Can I have my shoes?"

I picked them up, and shoved them into his chest. "You didn't forget anything else, did you?"

"Just this." He gave me a good, long kiss with lots of tongue. Then he cupped my ass with both his hands, and pulled me in nice and close.

"I don't want you eating any cannoli. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

His expression was terrible – dark and angry and aroused. I understood alright. I was instantaneously turned on and terrified at the same time. My mouth went dry; I was too afraid to speak, so I just nodded.

Ranger smiled. "We'll talk about it later." He cupped my face, and kissed me. "I'll have someone drop off your car in an hour." And he was gone.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N** – Thank you so much for the overwhelming response to the last chapter! Wow! All those reviews and positive comments made my week!

All the best, J.

--

**Chapter 12 – Pizza Pizza**

Just like last time, the nurse at my doctor's office got me settled in the examination room. She weighed me, and took my temperature. And then slipped on the blood pressure cuff, and squeezed it until I was sure my arm was going to explode.

"Whoa," she said when she read the dial. She adjusted the cuff, and squeezed the bulb some more. She frowned at the readout, and tapped it. "You're blood pressure's really high," she said. "Higher than last time you were here, anyway."

"How high?"

"140 over 93."

"That's bad?"

"It's not great. Maybe you're just nervous. You feeling stressed about this visit? Some people suffer from what we call the 'white-coat syndrome'. Doctor's office's make them nervous, and zoop – up go the numbers."

"I guess." The truth was, after this morning, my doctor's visit was the least of my worries. I was pretty sure my blood pressure was up because I had two alpha males barking at my door.

"Just try to relax," she said. "The doctor will be in with you shortly." The nurse gave me a gentle pat on my arm, and left.

Shortly was a lie. I waited and waited for the doctor, wondering if perhaps I'd been forgotten. But instead of hunting someone down, I took the time to think; not about my health, per se, but the nightmare that made up my personal life. It was a real mess. Every time I thought of Morelli, my stomach clenched in an unpleasant way; and every time I thought of Ranger, I went hot and cold on an alternating basis.

I knew I had to break it off with Morelli; I'd come to that realization not long ago. Of course, I'd been too chicken to do anything about it, and now reality was getting pushy and demanding some action. Getting eaten out by one guy while your boyfriend was pounding on your front door was enough to make any gal see sense.

But actually going through with it had me worried. If I did dump Morelli, would Ranger step up and take his place? Part of me (the stupid part) thought he just might; but another part of me (the rational part) guessed he'd be in the wind before sundown. Ranger himself said he didn't do relationships. He'd sent me back to Morelli before. I don't know if he'd send me back to Morelli now (given the fact that he almost shot Morelli in the gumpy for feeling me up), but that didn't mean he'd want me for anything other than sex. And I wasn't willing to start a relationship that was based on sex, even it was sex with Ranger. I needed more than that.

The truth was, I didn't want to be alone; I'd been alone for a long time, and didn't like it. At least with Morelli, things were comfortable and stable. I knew I could depend on him to bring over beer and pizza when a Rangers game was on. He was someone to cuddle with on the couch, and a decent lover. We had our own places, which meant we had our own space when we needed it. We shared a dog. Beyond that, our relationship didn't have much going for it; and now, with our medical problems, we couldn't even have the pizza and the beer. But at least I wouldn't be alone; and he'd take care of me, if I asked him to. If I wanted him to.

Just then my doctor came in. "Good afternoon, Stephanie," he said. "And how are you?"

I lied – what did he care about my love life? "I'm fine."

He glanced at his file. "So, I have the results of your latest blood tests here." He looked at them for awhile, as if he hadn't seen them before, and closed the file. He assumed a doctor-like pose, leaning against the counter with the file held in front of him. He tipped his chin down, and looked at me over his glasses.

"How did your dietary changes go?"

"Pretty good," I said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Really. You cut out all the things we talked about?"

I was starting to grow nervous. "Yes. I worked with a dietician, and took some cooking lessons too."

The doctor frowned. "I see." He opened the file again. "Well, if what you tell me is true - "

"It is!" I said. "I can bring in witnesses! Signed affidavits! Probably even video!"

"That all really isn't necessary," he said. "I'm just concerned, that's all. Sometimes, cutting back on sugar is enough to lower triglycerides to a safer level. In your case, however, it hasn't worked to - "

"Hasn't worked?" I was really panicking now. I gave up Tastykakes for nothing? "But - "

"Please allow me to finish, Stephanie. Your tests show some improvement, there's no doubt, but not to the extent that I had hoped for. We just need to take this to the next level; in this case, I'm going to prescribe some medication."

"Oh." I found myself wringing my hands, and immediately stopped. "And… my diet?"

"Keep up with whatever you've been doing," he said. He opened the file again. "I see you've lost some weight; and your cholesterol levels have improved over last time. So we're moving in the right direction. The medication will just help speed things along."

I felt like I was deflating, like the air was slowly hissing out of me. "Will I have to be on this medication for awhile?"

He nodded. "We'll start out by trying it for three months. After that, we'll evaluate how things are."

"And if things have improved?"

"We'll try things without the medication, and re-evaluate. But I have to tell you, Stephanie: most people are on these drugs for awhile, sometimes years. Some people are on them steadily, while others bounce on and off them for the rest of their lives."

I nodded. "So – no upside down pineapple cake ever again, huh?"

He smiled at my defeatist tone. "I would avoid it. But that's not to say you couldn't have a small piece for a special occasion – say, on your birthday."

I perked up. "Really?"

"Sure – but definitely no alcohol; it doesn't react well with the medication. And you have to stick to the healthy diet – the pills won't work otherwise - and you should exercise everyday, at least 30 minutes. Can you do that?"

I nodded. "Yes." I'd run up Mt. Everest every morning if it meant I'd be allowed to eat pineapple upside down cake again.

"Support from family and friends also make a huge difference on how successful a person is at managing their triglycerides and cholesterol. Do you feel you're getting the support you need?"

I paused. "Yes. I have a… friend; he's been very supportive." I smiled, thinking of Ranger, and our cooking lessons… being chased through most of Trenton when he thought I kidnapped the donuts… kissing me and telling me he was proud of me…

The doctor nodded. "And what about your family? Are they helping you?"

"Kind of. I mean, my mom isn't used to low fat cooking, but I think she's slowly coming around. And my boyfriend is being treated for high cholesterol, so we've been suffering together this last month."

He smiled, and pulled out a prescription pad. "Sounds like fun. How has that been going?"

I shrugged. "Okay. He's been… okay." I frowned. Morelli had been anything but supportive. He never once asked me how my condition was, or how I was coping with it. He didn't appreciate the effort I put into learning to cook low fat and low sugar recipes.

"Good… good." The doctor was busy scribbling on the pad, and didn't notice my expression. He tore off a piece of paper, grabbed a copy of the test results, and handed both to me. "Here you are. Talk to your pharmacist about side effects – and if you have any questions or concerns about how things are going, come in and see me. Okay?"

"Okay." I took the paper, the doctor bid me farewell, and once again, I was left alone in the examination room.

I left the doctor's office feeling like a great fat failure. This had been an incredibly hard month; I had hoped that I could return to the way things used to be. To learn that this new diet was going to last me a lifetime made me feel… sad. Unfulfilled. I mean, I was getting used to eating all this healthy shit, but I still really wanted a donut. Several donuts.

At least the doctor had decided one thing for me – I had to have a serious talk with Morelli, and his lack of support. I wasn't looking forward to it one bit. And I still had to cook him dinner and feed his dog. I put my head in my hands. This was going to be a fun night.

I went home, and sat on my couch, feeling dejected. After a few minutes, I got up and went to the fridge, hoping to find some secret stash of something sugary, something I missed in my initial purge. There was, of course, only healthy stuff in there. I sighed, grabbed a carrot, and went to sit down again. I took a bite of carrot, and chewed. It was completely unsatisfying. I swallowed, and felt like crying.

The phone rang then. It was Ranger. "You alright, babe?"

I glanced briefly at the camera. "Sure," I said. "I'm just having a snack." I took another bite of carrot, and chewed with little enthusiasm. "Yum," I said.

"I can tell you're enjoying it."

I sighed, and tossed the carrot on the coffee table. "My test scores were bad," I said. "I have to go on medication."

Ranger was silent for a moment. "There must have been some improvement," he said.

"Yeah, I guess; but not enough." I pulled out the piece of paper the doctor had given me.

"What was the result?"

"276 mg/dL." Whatever that meant.

"And what was the first reading?"

I looked over the page, and saw it near the top. "454 mg/dL."

"That's a big change, babe. You should be proud of your progress."

I scowled. "I guess." I wasn't feeling proud. I was feeling like only a Tastykake could cure me.

"This is not a failure, Stephanie. You did all you could, and now the medication will help speed up the process. It's no different than taking an aspirin for a headache. You're using the tools you have to get better faster."

When he put it that way, it made a certain amount of sense. It made me feel a little better. I looked up at the camera and nodded, and tried to smile.

I think he saw what a poor attempt it was. "Do you want me to come over?"

I did; I wanted to see Ranger more than anything. I wanted him to bring over an Ella meal, and after we ate, I wanted to cuddle with him on the couch. And when I felt better, I wanted to take him to bed, and thank him for his support and help over the last month.

But all that was going to have to wait. "I'm due at Morelli's in half an hour."

There was a pause. "You don't have to go over to Morelli's, Steph," he said.

He was using my name an awful lot, which meant he was being really serious. It made parts of me tingle in pleasant ways. I stood up. "Tonight I do."

Another pause as he took this in. I wished I could see him; I wish he was looking at me in person rather than through a little screen in black and white.

"Call me if you need anything."

"I will." And I hung up.

--

Bob the Dog was happy to see me, once he had a little private time. He sniffed around me, and decided to return to the couch to await Morelli's return.

The kitchen was nice and neat. A rinsed out bowl, spoon, and coffee mug sat near the sink – the remains of Morelli's breakfast. The house in general was neat, but there were hints of lax housekeeping – dust on the shelves, crumbs on the floor, bed sheets that could use a change, laundry basket in danger of overflowing. Nothing one wouldn't expect to find in a house with a bachelor.

I got to work making dinner – chicken fajita pizza. It had a lot more vegetables and much less cheese than Morelli was used to on a pizza, but it was still pizza. As I made the dough, I wondered how Morelli was doing at his appointment. Was he getting bad news like me? Would he have to stay on his medication forever? A small part of me wished he would, so that I would have someone to suffer with. Then I remembered that I was going to break up with Morelli tonight; and if things didn't work out with Ranger as I hoped, I'd be suffering alone.

I was chopping up vegetables when Morelli walked in, Bob bouncing around him in excitement. Morelli carried a box of beer, which he put on the table.

"Hi," I said.

He didn't answer me. Instead, he gathered me up in my arms, and gave me a kiss that nearly blew my shoes off.

"Wow," I said.

He gave me his movie star grin. "You bet," he said. He pulled me in nice and tight. "How was your day?"

I was growing a bit alarmed at how nice he felt this close up. "Not as good as yours, I guess."

The grin grew more blinding. "I got a good report from the doctor's office," he said. "My cholesterol levels are back to a normal range."

I stiffened. "What?"

"I know – he was shocked too. He said he wasn't expecting to see such a great improvement in such a short time. I told him it was all your good cooking that did it." He squeezed my fanny, and ground his pelvis into mine.

I blinked rapidly a couple of times. I was stunned – and outraged. "I don't understand," I said. "You don't have high cholesterol anymore?"

"Nope. I still have to stay on the medicine for awhile, and he wants me to keep eating the same diet, just to make sure things stay the same, but otherwise, I'm free and clear. Isn't that fantastic?"

Fantastic wasn't the word I was thinking of, though it did start with an F. "Sure," I said. Then I shrugged out of his embrace, and went back to cutting up vegetables. Wham wham wham.

Morelli was oblivious to my anger. "Don't worry about dinner, cupcake. I ordered in."

I spun on him. "But I'm halfway done!"

"It doesn't matter. Tonight we're celebrating, and for that, we need pizza."

"But I'm making pizza."

He looked down at the pile of vegetables I was cutting up. "You were going to put all that on a pizza?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. I am. Go cancel the order."

Just then, the doorbell rang. Bob took off, toenails scrittering to find purchase on the lino. "Too late, cupcake. Why don't you save all this for tomorrow night." He gave me a kiss, and practically ran to the door.

I looked down at my hand, and realized I was holding the knife a lot like Jason Voorhees did, just before he hacked all his victims to pieces. I tossed it away from me like it was a snake. I had to get a hold of myself. Okay. Morelli's blood tests were normal, and mine weren't. Okay; it wasn't fair, but there was probably an explanation. We'd eaten the same things. Why was his normal? Was it genetic? No; it was probably the medication. Why didn't my damn doctor put me on medication from the start? I could have been stuffing myself full of cake right now! Stupid damn dumb doctor!

Just then, a heavenly smell hit my nose. Morelli came around the corner carrying a Pino's pizza box. "Grab the plates and napkins, will you cupcake?" he said. He picked up the beer, and took off for the television.

It took me several moments to compose myself. By the time I looked into the living room, Morelli was sitting on the couch, cracking open a beer. The pizza box was open on his lap; I guess he decided to forgo the plates. He settled on a game, then took out a piece of pizza and started to eat.

"Mmm!" A blissful expression came over him on the first bite. "Man, I've missed Pino's! This is so much better than I remember it!" He took another bite. Sausage and cheese dripped off the crust into the box. Bob sat underneath it, his mouth open, waiting for scraps to fall in.

Morelli finally saw me standing there. "Come sit down," he said. "The game just started."

"I can't. I'm making my dinner."

"I told you, cupcake – just leave it." He looked at me and smiled. "Come on. Take a break from the kitchen and your diet tonight – you deserve it. Have a slice. Have a Bud." Then he turned his attention back to the television.

I snapped. "Joe, I can't drink beer! I've told you that a million times! And you shouldn't be eating that pizza! It's a heart attack on a platter!"

There was a hint of annoyance to his expression. "Steph, my cholesterol's fine. The doctor said so. One pizza and beer night won't kill me, and it won't kill you." He held up a piece of pizza for me. "Come on," he said. "Take it. You know you want it."

Three weeks ago I would have said yes. I would have snapped it up like a little dog snaps up a cocktail weenie. Looking at it now though, I was surprised at how unappealing it actually looked. It dripped grease, and looked… slimy. The crust flopped, completely saturated in fat.

"I don't want it," I said.

Morelli looked stunned. "What do you mean?" He looked it over, wondering what was wrong with it.

"I mean… I want my own pizza. I'm going to make it. Okay?"

He stared at me. And then he smiled. It was a smile filled with love and affection. "Okay, cupcake. How long will it take?"

"Not long," I said. "Twenty, thirty minutes."

He nodded. "Okay. You go ahead." He tossed the piece of pizza in the air. Bob leapt up six feet, and caught the pizza. He snapped it up in three quick bites, and immediately sat back with an expectant expression, clearly hoping for more. Morelli smiled at the dog with the same loving expression he just gave me, and went back to watching TV.

My hands tightened into fists. Did he just give me permission to cook my dinner? I had a moment of complete insanity where I actually started walking for my purse to get my stun gun, but thankfully the moment passed. Morelli was a pretty understanding guy, but I doubt that understanding would extend to me zapping him unconscious because he was acting like a pig.

I walked back to the kitchen, took a few calming breaths, found the kitchen knife, and finished chopping up the vegetables. I stir-fried the veggies with a little oil and some chicken and spices. I dumped the chicken and veggies on a thin-crust pizza shell, added a small amount of cheddar, and put the pizza in the oven.

I had about fifteen minutes before the pizza would be ready. I knew I should have gone back to see Morelli while my pizza cooked. He had probably eaten his fill by now, and was leaning back on the couch, satisfied that all was right with the world. I could sit next to him, and watch the game for a few minutes. But I just couldn't do it. The magnanimous granting of permission to cook my own meal had pissed me off, but there was more to it than that. He hadn't asked me about my appointment, even though I had told him I was going into the doctor's today. He didn't ask how I was doing. Did he really not hear me when I told him over and over that my triglycerides were high, that I wasn't suffering through severe diet changes just to appease him? Why did he not get it? Why didn't he see?

I should have been mad – but instead, I just felt sad. So sad, that I quickly washed up the dishes I used, and then started to clean up his kitchen. My grandmother copes with stress by watching the Weather Network. My mom tipples and irons. I used to eat donuts and birthday cake. Now, apparently, I sweep floors and do dishes. Who would have guessed?

I was wiping down the cupboard doors when a pair of arms slipped around me, causing me to jump. "Sorry, cupcake – I didn't mean to startle you."

His breath was like a great beery sausage. "That's okay." I patted his arm, slipped out of his embrace, and hung the cloth over the tap.

"The kitchen looks great," he said. He sniffed the air, and peered at the oven. "And whatever you're cooking in there smells delicious. What are you making again?"

"Chicken fajita pizza."

He nodded. "Right." He reached for my hand, and pulled me in close. "You've become quite domestic these last few months, what with all this cooking and cleaning."

"Well, I wouldn't say I've been doing a whole lot of cleaning…"

"Still, I've noticed. You've been trying really hard. It's a shame it took our health problems to get us here; but maybe it was the push we needed to get straightened out."

_Our_ health problems. He had noticed after all! Thank God – Morelli normally wasn't that obtuse. "It hasn't been an easy month," I admitted.

"No," he agreed. "But I think I have a way to make it better."

There was something in his hand. I looked down, and gasped when I saw the jeweller's box. He opened it up, and I gasped again when I saw the diamond ring inside.

"Stephanie Plum," he said, "will you marry me?"


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N** – This was an incredibly hard chapter to write. I wanted to keep the characters as true to canon as possible, and that was hard to do. In the end, I'm happy with the result, but Joe is still more stupid and pigheaded than I wanted him to be. So if you have Cupcake leanings, I apologize for that.

**Warnings – **Swearing, and a really clueless Morelli.

Once again, thank you for all your reviews and support! All the best, J.

--

**Chapter 13 – Run Babe, Run**

Imagine this absurd situation: two people are in a relationship. One was getting ready to break it off, and the other was getting ready to make things permanent. How are they even working from the same page? And yet, here we are.

I was staring at the ring and trying not to look horrified, but it wasn't working. I _was_ horrified… and angry, and embarrassed, and guilty, because I was about to turn Morelli down, and that was no doubt going to hurt him. I didn't see this marriage proposal coming, not by a long shot; and no doubt, when I told him I was leaving him, he was going to be blindsided too. We just weren't in tune with each other anymore.

"We tried this already," I said. "It didn't work out."

"I know, but we weren't ready then," Morelli said. "I think we are now."

"We aren't ready. We can barely date each other. We're on, we're off… How on earth do you think we're ready for marriage?"

Joe sat me down at the table, and took a chair for himself. "Listen, cupcake," he said. "I know we have some issues to resolve. But we can work through them. I mean, look at you. A few weeks ago, I swear you were ready to dump me for Ranger."

"That's not true!" And technically I wasn't lying. I hadn't been contemplating it… then.

His eyes narrowed. "I know about the alley, Steph," he said. "I know what you two get up to down there."

I started to sweat. "You do?"

He nodded. "It never made me happy, for obvious reasons, but I knew a few kisses were as far as you would let it go." His face darkened. "I know you have feelings for him. I always suspected it, but after he was shot by Scrog, I knew it was pretty serious. Maybe you even thought you loved him. Why, I don't understand; but I was willing to tolerate it because I knew you would never cheat on me – and you haven't."

My heart was fluttering fast like a bird's; I feared it would explode. If Ranger hadn't made me pick up the phone this morning, Morelli wouldn't be saying these things now. "Joe - "

"And now, for the last few weeks, you've been avoiding him. You haven't gone down the alley with him in a long time."

"I haven't?" I guess that was true. Why make out in an alley when you could make out in the comfort of your own home?

Morelli nodded. "And just a couple of weeks ago, I swear I saw you trying to escape him in a car chase."

My cheeks reddened. "What? No! That was a misunderstanding."

He took my hand. "It doesn't matter, Steph. The important thing is, you're distancing yourself from him. It's something I've always wanted – I never made that a secret. And when you add that in with the cooking lessons… well, I knew."

I was staring at him in wide-eyed horror. "You knew what?" I squeaked.

He smiled at me. "I knew you were finally getting ready to settle down," he said. "I knew that you wanted to get married."

I gaped at him. "You think I'm taking cooking lessons because I want to… get married?"

"Sure. Let's face it – your homemaking skills before this were… Well, they weren't great, were they? You used to live on peanut butter and olive sandwiches, and birthday cake. Now you're cooking chicken and pizza and pot roasts. You cook almost as good as my mother. When we get married, I know you'll be able to take care of me… and our children." He gave me a loving smile.

"Children?" I squeaked. This was going from bad to worse. This was a nightmare. Not only was Morelli proposing marriage, now he was proposing children? He knew I didn't want this… didn't he?

"Of course, you'll have to quit bounty hunting, but that's for the best – you know how that job gives me heartburn. And I know you find it kind of confining in a house when there's nothing to do, so when the kids get older, I don't mind if you decide to work again. Maybe you can get a job at the button factory…"

I pulled my hand back from him. "Are you out of your mind?"

He looked stunned. "What's wrong?"

Oh, where to begin? "I get to take care of you? You'll let me work? I almost cook as good as your mother? These words are meant to entice me into marriage?"

He still looked confused. "I don't understand. This isn't what you want?"

Could he really be that dense? "No, Joe, this is not what I want. This is the complete opposite of what I want. When have I ever said I wanted to be… married with kids?"

"But… why take cooking lessons if you don't want to be a housewife?"

I stood up so quickly my chair fell over with a crash. "I haven't been learning how to cook so I could get married, you idiot!"

He looked surprised. "You haven't?"

"I'm cooking _for me_! Jesus fucking Christ! How many times do I have to tell you that I have to watch what I eat because of my triglycerides?"

He frowned. "Not this again," he said. "Look - your condition can't be that bad. Mine wasn't – and look at me now. I'm all better."

"Well, I'm not," I said. "And if you had bothered to ask me how my appointment went this afternoon, I would have told you that my 'condition' hadn't improved, and that I need to go on medication now."

"So what's the big deal?" he said. "The meds will cure you, just like they cured me. What are you complaining about?"

"I'm complaining," I shouted back, "because you haven't offered me any support!"

"Jeez… how much support do you need? I ate all the damn food you cooked, didn't I?"

I gaped at him. "What did you say?"

He ignored me. "And maybe – just maybe – your health hasn't improved because you haven't tried hard enough."

I never knew it was possible to see red, but I learned then and there that it was. "Did you just say that I didn't try hard enough?"

He folded his arms. "That's what I said."

That did it. I turned, and grabbed my purse from the kitchen table. Then I stormed back to him.

"I'll have you know that I did everything I was supposed to do and more! I haven't eaten a single pastry or snack food since I was forced on this diet! I consulted a dietician and bought cookbooks! I took cooking lessons!"

He snorted. "Come on, Steph - you're taking cooking lessons from your grandmother, for crying out loud. What the hell does she know about low fat cooking?"

I took a step closer to him. "I haven't been taking cooking lessons from my grandmother," I said. "I've been taking them from Ranger."

Morelli's eyes bugged out of his sockets. A vein in his forehead started to pound, and his face turned purple. "What?"

I don't think I had ever seen him this angry, but then again, I had never been this angry, so I pressed on. "You heard me. Ranger knows all about low fat cooking for someone with my medical condition. And he's a terrific cook. He's taught me many, many things." I raised my eyebrows at him.

Morelli's eyes lit with fury. The fury quickly dissolved into surprise when I pulled my hand out of my purse, and tagged him on the arm with my stun gun. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground like a bag of wet cement.

It took a good minute before I was actually able to see properly and breathe normally. Then it hit me. I had stunned a cop - a big, muscle-y Italian cop who was bound to be pissed off when he woke up. Probably it would be best to not be there when he did.

I gathered up all my stuff, and looked down at Joe. He looked peaceful, lying there on the floor. I debated leaving a note. To do so seemed superfluous – I think my initial reaction to his proposal said it all – but now that I had calmed down, it seemed rude just to stun and run.

Bob the dog came in then. His snout was covered in tomato sauce, cheese strings, and bits of pizza box. He gave me his equivalent of a sleepy, sated smile. He saw Morelli lying on the floor, and started to lick his face. Morelli groaned, and one eye popped open.

I yelped; so much for a note. I was halfway to the door when the timer went for my pizza.

Now I was in a quandary. I wanted that pizza; but I really needed to get out of there. I looked at Morelli – he still only had one eye open. I figured I had some time, so I snuck over to the oven, shoved on an oven mitt, and pulled out the pizza. It was nice and bubbly, and smelled delicious; but I had nothing to pack it in.

Morelli groaned again. "Cupcake?" he slurred. He had both eyes open now; his hands were flapping up and down slowly. He looked like a goldfish that had jumped out of its bowl.

I left the mitt on, tiptoed around Joe, and took the pizza pan with me.

--

My phone rang when I was two minutes into my escape. "You stunned me," Morelli said. He still sounded a bit out of it.

"I'm sorry. It was an accident."

"Like hell it was. If you didn't want to marry me, you could have just said so."

"Okay. I don't want to marry you."

"No shit!"

We both fell silent. I debated hanging up, but decided that wouldn't go over well. "I really am sorry, Joe," I said finally. "About everything."

"Oh, you'll be sorry, all right," he said. "I'm calling your mother." And he hung up.

"You bastard!" I threw the phone on the seat next to me, and made a grab for the pizza. I hadn't had time to cut it up into pieces. I pulled over, and tore the pizza up into rough triangles. I spread a spare plastic bag on my lap to catch any falling vegetables, and started to eat the pizza. It was still hot, and the first bite burnt the roof of my mouth.

The phone rang as I started the second piece. "Stephanie, this is your mother. Please tell me you didn't just turn down a marriage proposal from Joseph Morelli."

I put the car in drive, and slowly took off down the street. "I did."

"But why?" It came out as a mournful wail.

"It turns out he's not the guy for me."

"He says you shot him!"

"It was a stun gun – and he's fine. It only knocked him out for a couple of minutes."

There was a pause. "What kind of family is this? I have a mother who wears hot pants and hangs out with horny men, and a daughter who shoots good, decent men who want to marry her!" This was followed by the sound of liquid sloshing around in a bottle, and a gasping swallow – my mother must have been tippling directly from the source instead of disguising it in a teacup.

"Mom, I really rather not talk about it."

"Well, too bad! Now, you apologize to him right now, and tell him you change your mind. Then get married and give me grandchildren."

"I won't."

"You will! This is your last chance!"

"My last chance for what?"

"For what? For a normal life! Joseph Morelli is a good choice! He'll give you a good home, and children!"

I applied the brake so suddenly that the tires squealed, and the car stalled. "I don't want those things! I never have, and you should know that by now!" I was so angry I was close to tears – and I didn't cry that easily.

"But - !"

My mother was cut off suddenly; there was the sound of a struggle, and then Grandma Mazur came on the line. "Just ignore your mother, dear. She'll see reason in the morning. In the meantime, you go out and forget all about it. Joseph is a nice boy, but he's not right for you. He never was."

"Don't tell her that!" My mother's voice was perfectly audible from the background.

Grandma ignored her. "Now that Ranger," she said. "He's a nice boy, too, but he's not as high strung as that Morelli. And he likes you, just the way you are."

I sniffled a little bit. "You think so?"

"I know so. You can see it in the way he looks at you. He won't go trying to change you. That, and he's got a really nice package. You should go scoop him up."

I smiled. "Thanks, Grandma."

"Don't you listen to her, Stephanie!" My mom was still yelling from the background. "Joseph's perfect – perfect, do you hear me!"

"Oh, go and tipple some more," Grandma said, and she hung up.

I sat there for awhile, thinking about what Grandma said. Ranger was certainly more tolerant of my lifestyle and work than Morelli would ever be. He didn't necessarily like all the choices I made, but he was there to help me when I needed it. And he did like me – he loved me. It wasn't often said aloud, but it was there in his actions. He found me amusing, but it was never meant in an unkind way, and it was better than being annoying. And Grandma was right – Ranger did have a nice package.

All of that was good, of course, but it didn't amount to anything if Ranger didn't want a relationship. I knew that he wanted me in a sexual way, but beyond that? He wasn't a man of mystery for nothing. I'd like to think that he did want a relationship with me that extended beyond the bedroom – but what if that was just wishful thinking on my part?

I fingered the phone, wondering what I should do - should I call him? That smacked of desperation – _Hi, I just broke up with Morelli. Do you want to be my boyfriend now?_ No – no good. Maybe I should just wait to see him tomorrow, and talk to him then? Again, it seemed too early. What if, like the underwear incident, he thought I was just looking for a substitute?

I didn't know what to do. I wanted him – but what if he didn't want me?

I think I sat there on the side of the road for half an hour, just thinking and worrying. Finally I gave up, and drove home. Only I didn't stop when I came to the entrance of my lot. I kept on driving, and when I hit the highway, I kept going, without any clear destination in mind. I didn't stop until I found I'd driven myself to Point Pleasant.

It was early in the season; the boardwalk was relatively quiet, and the sky was dark. I walked for about ten minutes before making my way to the beach. The ocean sent in soft waves to break upon the shore. It was a soothing sound. I sat on the sand, and stared out over the water.

Fifteen minutes later, a black windbreaker settled down around my shoulders, and Ranger sat down beside me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 – Batman Speaks**

I wasn't surprised that Ranger found me; he had so many trackers on me that he probably knew where I was going before I did. He'd been sitting next to me for about five minutes now, and besides his soft 'Babe' in greeting, he hadn't said a word. He just sat there, staring out over the ocean. I didn't say anything either, and I was too unsure of his presence to move in closer to him. But when I shivered, he put his arm around me. I immediately forgot about my insecurities, and nestled in to him.

"You didn't have to come out all this way."

He shrugged. "Thought you might want company."

Which was his way of saying he didn't trust me to be here on my own. Oh, well. I was too wrung out to be all that mad at him. And he could have sent Tank or Hal to watch over me from a distance; this way, I was warm and wrapped up in a Bulgari cloud. "I'm glad you're here."

He kissed me on the side of my head. "You okay, babe?"

"Not really. Things didn't go so well with Joe tonight."

"I know."

"How?"

"Your mother called. And Morelli brought Bob over to Haywood to shit on the front step."

"Oh boy."

"Yeah. Lester said Bob ate a whole pizza, the box included. I made him clean it up. I had to give him hazard pay."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it. Lester needed something to do."

I snickered; I could just imagine Lester's face when Ranger gave him pooper scooper duty. Ranger's arm tightened around me as I laughed, and I leaned into his shoulder.

"So did you really shoot him?" He sounded more than a little amused.

I scowled. "I gave him the stun-gun, not a bullet. He was being a jerk and insulting. And he said I was… domesticated."

Ranger looked incredulous for a moment, and then he laughed. "Domesticated?"

I elbowed him. "He also said…"

"What, babe?"

I made a face. "He said I must not have tried very hard on my diet, and that's why my health hadn't improved."

"He doesn't know what he's talking about." He actually sounded annoyed.

"That's what I told him," I said. "But it still hurt. Especially since his cholesterol is back to normal, and mine isn't – and I knew for sure I tried harder than he did."

Once again, Ranger fell silent. Finally he said, "I used to eat at least twenty Big-Macs a month."

I almost fell over in shock. I turned to look at him properly. "What?"

He smiled. "I loved burgers. When I was in high school and college, I ate them every chance I got. And fries and coke. McDonald's was the only place I wanted to eat."

"No!" I couldn't believe my ears. It was like he told me he liked to get it on with guys. Ranger didn't eat McDonald's. This was a well known fact.

He nodded. "When I joined the army, I underwent a physical. The doctor told me that both my cholesterol and triglycerides were too high. They put me on medication and a diet. Told me I wouldn't make special forces until I got things under control. That got me straightened out in a hurry. Eventually I was well enough to go off my medication, and my army career moved ahead as planned.

"When I left the army, though, I wasn't so careful with my diet, and within three months, I was back where I started. I was on and off meds for a long time. My cholesterol is easier to control now, but my triglycerides are always going to be a problem. My first triglyceride reading I got was higher than yours, by the way. A lot higher."

I stared at him, completely flabbergasted. "Get out!"

He was smiling, enjoying my dumbfounded look. "I've found the right balance in my diet so that I don't need medication anymore, but I have to be careful. If I slip up, I'll be back on meds, and I don't want that. So I have to be strict with myself."

"Wait a minute. You're not telling me… Is this why you don't eat sweets or junk food?" I could hardly believe it – had another great, dark, Batman secret just been unearthed? Could it be that Ranger didn't eat donuts because he wasn't allowed to?

He nodded. "No fats, no sweets, no cake... That's the main reason why I banned cookies from the staff room at work. I told the guys they were getting fat, but truthfully, the cookies were too big a temptation for me. Especially Ella's cookies."

Tell me about it. "And you hired Ella because she's a dietician, right?"

"It's a lot easier to stay on my diet when someone else is doing the cooking."

"But what about beer? I've seen you drink beer. I'm not allowed to have any alcohol."

"My doctor told me I'm allowed to have one indulgence a week. So I drink beer. I can live without the cookies, but not the beer. And occasionally, it's nice to have wine with dinner."

That made my ears perk up. "Do you think I could have an indulgence once a week?" The thought of having a Tastykake, or a beer, or Ella's cheesecake made my heart beat faster.

He smiled. "That's up to your doctor. I have to warn you, though, it took a few years before my doctor allowed me that weekly beer."

I wanted to weep. "Oh." Years! Gah!

Ranger stood, and offered me a hand. He pulled me up to my feet, and stepped in close to me. "There are other indulgences you can have that don't need your doctor's approval, babe."

The look in his eye sent my doo-dah from humming to outright revving. "Like… pudding?"

He smiled. "Among other things. Some aren't so sticky as they are sweaty." He leaned in, and kissed my neck. "Does that interest you?"

Hmm… sweaty indulgences. "So long as these indulgences are in the bedroom, and not on the running track."

He laughed. "That all depends on whether it's over between you and the cop."

"I think it's safe to say that it's over." And then it hit me – Morelli and I were really through this time. I couldn't see him forgiving me for the stun-gun, or the time I spent with Ranger; and I couldn't be with anyone who gave ultimatums, or who wanted to turn me into something I wasn't. It was over. I was glad it was over, but I still felt kind of… sad. We'd been together for a long time. Sure, it was all on and off, but we had loved each other in our weird way, and that was hard to forget.

Something must have shown on my face, because Ranger looked sympathetic. "I know it isn't easy," he said. "But I can make it easier for you… if you let me."

My heart started to beat a little faster. "What are you offering?"

He pulled me nice and snug against his body. "Support… help… friendship… honesty…" With each word, he planted a kiss upon me, on my forehead, cheeks, lips. "I can also promise healthy meals and cooking tips… and sex. Lots of sex."

I was finding it hard to breathe now. "That sounds suspiciously like… a relationship."

He pulled back a little, and looked down upon me. "It does, doesn't it?"

"I thought you didn't do relationships."

"I thought it was time to give it a try," he said.

I probably would have fallen down if he hadn't been holding me so close. "Really? With me?"

He looked amused. "With you."

He leaned in to kiss me, and I very nearly let him. But I pulled away at the last minute. "I want to know just one thing."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What is it, babe?"

"Why did you want me to cook for Morelli?"

He chuckled lightly, and took a step back. "The million dollar question."

"Yeah, well… I want a million dollar answer."

He smiled. "Morelli proposed tonight, didn't he?"

I nodded. "How did you know that? Did mom tell you?"

"I knew it would happen soon. The man's ready to settle down, babe. He was just looking for a sign from you to move ahead."

I stared at him, not understanding; and then it hit me. "The cooking lessons! Morelli said he thought I was ready to settle down because I took cooking lessons!"

"Morelli's a good man, but he's old-fashioned. You've never cooked for him before. It's not so hard to believe that he thought you were changing to fit his idea of a wife."

"But that's ridiculous! He knew I didn't want to be a housewife!"

"Maybe he did; maybe he didn't. Maybe he was hoping that you'd be willing to give it a try. I suppose if the situation was reversed, I might have hoped for the same thing."

I stared at him. "So let me get this straight: you knew that if I cooked for Morelli, he'd propose, and I'd reject him? Is that why you wanted me to cook for him?"

He laughed. "No."

"Then why?" I was dying, wanting to know.

He turned so he was facing me. "I assumed that he'd ask you where you were learning to cook, and that my name would come up."

"And then what? We'd fight about you and break up?"

"Yes, but not for the reasons you think. I wanted Morelli to become aware of certain facts."

I blinked in confusion. "And those facts would be?"

He tucked some stray hairs behind my ear, and cupped my face gently in his hand. "That you can do anything, once you set your mind to it; that you're learning to accept help when you need it; and that I was the man who helped you reach your potential, and not him." He gave me a full two-hundred watt smile. "You're an amazing woman, Stephanie Plum. Morelli doesn't know it, and intentionally or unintentionally, he kept you from knowing it too – but I know it. I always have."

I stared up at him for a long time before saying, "That's a really good answer."

"I like to think so."

"And so now what?" I joked. "Are you going to spend the next several years showing me how amazing I really am?"

"That's my plan," he said. And he leaned in – and this time, I let him kiss me.

_The End_

* * *

**A/N** –

I want to thank everyone, regardless of your affiliation, be it Babe or Cupcake, for reading my story. I especially want to thank those who reviewed. Your thoughts, criticisms, and feedback have been invaluable to me. I loved hearing what you liked, and what you didn't. And since this is the last chapter of this story, I'd really like to know what you thought of the work as a whole. Please review, or send me a PM. I'd love to hear from you.

I look forward to reading more of your lovely stories. All the best to you, J.


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